King of the Dales
by CrazyRopeDragon
Summary: Dorian Pavus joins the Inquisition to save his country from itself. The redeemer meets nobles and rogues, and an elf who can wrap empires around his finger, and cow kings into shamed silence. An elf from humble beginings brings the world to its knees, and the mage can only watch in fascination. Dorian came for the Inquisition, but stays for the Inquisitor.
1. Redcliffe

Dorian sat in a corner of the Gull and Lantern in Redcliffe village, curious to see this Inquisition. He pulled a hood up around his face, obscuring himself to any onlookers , as he ate a ghastly bowl of stew with a bread trencher. His clothes were smelly and scratchy and this stew left his mouth feeling thick and foul, but food was food, and he had bigger concerns than the mildly unpleasant sensations he was having. The Mages of the Rebellion huddled together, and whispered. They looked scared, worried, and some of them looked daggers at their leader, Fiona. Alexius had done a right number here, hadn't he? Dorian thought it rather suspicious how quickly the man had arrived here to swoop in and claim these mages for the Imperium. Dorian had his suspicions, but he knew he would have to observe things, allow them to unfold a time before he could be certain. He hoped he was wrong. But he knew his master had been tampering with time. He had worked with the man on the formula, on the magic. Dorian was partly responsible for this. He had to do something to stop his mentor.

He heard the door opening. He didn't dare to turn around and look lest somebody see his face. He was very obvioulsy not from here. And if Alexius discovered his presence, the man would try to induct him into this insane cult that he had taken to. Dorian didn't much fancy being imprisoned, or ending up dead. Those were the only ways in which that scenario would end. Neither one were appealing. But he couldn't stay away. He had to risk it all. A sharp looking woman with short black hair led the small band of four. He examined her properly when she came into view. She looked dangerous. Incredibly tough. She could only be Seeker Pentaghast. A dwarf was at her heels, stocky and blonde with an impressive stock of chest hair. The fabled Varric Tethras, author, and friend to the Champion of Kirkwall. A slender woman with darker skin than his, and a very impressive Hennin. Madame de Fer. Dorian stared down at his bowl again. This Inquisitoin had some very big names attached to it. He prayed they would be enough. The final member of their little band came into view. He was very broad of shoulder, powerful looking. And tall. Especially for an elf. This elf had his impossibly long moon-kissed hair braided down his back, showing his pointed ears. He had that Dalish look of shaved head and intricate tattoos on his face and large arms. The hand that rested on the sword at his hip had the unmistakeable green spark. It was him alright. The Herald. Dorian held his breath. Things were about to get interesting. Dorian couldn't quite make out the short conversation between the Inquisition representatives and Fiona, but it seemed that Fiona was confused and unhappy. An unhappy mage was never a good sign. Dorian watched with bated breath.

Alexius never failed to make a timely entrance these days, it would seem. His timing was impeccable. Suspiciously impeccable. Felix didn't dare to look his way immediately. The Magister's son rested his eyes on the huddled figure of Dorian in the corner for only a moment, before staggering into the burly Herald, feigning illess. He was a good little actor, Dorian couldn't deny. But the boy's illness still made Dorian incredibly sad. The blight that had taken Fereldan all those years ago was still having an effect on the world. The Herald showed no sign of surprise at the small note being pressed into his hand. Maybe there truly was hope for them after all. Alexius panicked all over his son and withdrew with him at once. The man was terrified of losing the boy, even though it was inevitable. He thought perhaps that was what was spurring his research forward to new heights. The meeting had been kept blessedly brief, as they had planned. They didn't want an open conflict between Alexius with his mages and the Inquisition representatives. They didn't have the measure of the man yet. They couldn't be certain how volatile he might be. It was better to avoid the situation entirely. He continued to watch as the Inquisition people stared after the two Tevinter mages in confusion.

"... Always been a sickly boy..." Fiona explained, with Alexius' words . The Herald spoke quiet words of sympathy it seemed. He approved of that much. Perhaps he could be counted on as a compassionate, reasonable man. Dorian thought this was an appropriate time to withdraw. He had to make it to the Chantry without being noticed. After the drama of Felix's collapse, his movement wouldn't draw attention. He pulled a scarf up around his face, covering his nose and mouth, and tugged his hood down further over his face. Nobody looked twice at him. The mages that swarmed all over the town, were subdued and miserable. They'd all been duped. They wouldn't look twice at a hooded man with a mage's staff. They were all far too absorbed in their own affairs. They were all trying to come to terms with what had happened, and probably trying to formulate a plan to get away.

When he finally managed to push his way into the chantry, he felt a grim relief. It was truly awful to be in the midst of these newly oppressed people. People oppressed by a countryman of his. By his former mentor. Alexius was living up to every bad stereotype about magister from the Imperium. It made Dorian's blood boil. It was nerve=wracking being here when Alexius was here. He feared discovery at every turn. He pulled the hood from his face, tore the scarf away, and rested his head back against the doors of chantry, closing his eyes. Then he heard a ripping sound, that seemed to make his ears ring, as thought the world had exploded around him. He felt his teeth rattle with the impact, a thrum in his chest. He opened his eyes to a world bathed in green. He jumped into action, fear taking over. He grabbed for his staff and stood stock still as he observed. Tendrils of green light were spilling forth from a tear in the very fabric of existence. He watched them transfixed. He took tentative steps forward, very slowly. Too slowly. What was happening? He heard the chantry doors open again. But he had no time to see who was coming through. Hulking shapes were emerging from the tear. Now was a time to fight.

"Give me a hand with this, won't you?" he called to whoever had entered, hoping to Andraste that it was the Inquisition. Demons were pouring out of the hole in the air. He attacked them swiftly, sending them back to the fade with fire and ice. Time seemed to slow then speed up to be too fast. It was hard for his mind to keep up with what his body had to battle through. When all the demons seemed to have been pushed back into the rift, a blast of green light shot past him, connecting with the rift. It surged with energy, and Dorian could feel the hairs on his arms standing on end, his flesh prickling. He took a step back, and watched in wonder as the energy building in the rift overflowed, and seemed to explode. Dorian shielded his eyes from the blast of light, but when he looked back, the rift was gone. So it was the Inquisition.

"What a pleasant way to meet." Dorian said sarcastically as he turned around. He was met by a golden-eyed stare of the tallest elf he had ever seen. He had a stern face, and looked as though he had a short fuse. The Herlad looked less than pleased. His face was tattooed with what Dorian believed to be the markings of their god Mythal. His arms had similar markings, with ivy vines swirling through the patterning.

"Who are you? We were expecting the Magister's son, Felix." His voice was surprisingly deep. Dorian hadn't expected that. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts.

"What? No applause?" Dorian tried his most charming smile. The Herald glared at him, but he saw the corners of his mouth lift. He raised his hands and clapped three slow claps.

"Answer the question."

"He was meant to be here by now. Most like Alexius is fussing." Dorian smoothed down the creases of his robe, and smiled calmly. He hoped beyond hope that this wouldn't go awry. The Herald stepped closer to him, towering over him, and staring down at him. Dorian had never seen such a large elf. He was tall and brawnier than any other he had ever encountered. Dorian felt incredibly intimidated.

"Who are you?" the elf asked again slowly. He stared unwaveringly down at Dorian.

"My name is Dorian Pavus. I'm a mage from the Tevinter Imperium, and I want to stop Alexius." The elf nodded , and Dorian thought he could see a small smile on the lips of the Herald.

"Then it seems we can be friends Dorian Pavus. My name is Faolan Lavellan. We are the Inquisition."


	2. Into the Past

Dorian gasped as he felt himself being hurled. He didn't know where he was being hurled, but he could feel himself being moved violently. He could see nothing, hear nothing, and feel nothing but the motion. Then a stone, cold floor came up to meet him. He lay on the stone floor, groaning in pain, as agony blossomed outward from his jaw. He rolled onto his back, clutching his ribs and coughing. The impact had been horrible. He heard a grunt beside him.

"Are you alright?" Dorian closed his eyes. He had started to get very used to that deep voice lately.

"Could be better, Herald." He opened his eyes and saw Faolan standing over him offering him a hand. The Herald heaved the mage up onto his feet.

"Where are we?" the elf asked. Dorian grimaced in pain and looked around him. A dark stone dungeon, with red crystaline growths seeping out of the walls. He stared at the red lyrium, the reality of the situation sinking in. He knew where they were.

"He sent us into the future." The Herald whipped his head around, his braid flying.

"What." he said in a dead tone. He looked panicked and furious. Dorian shrugged. "Well how do we get out of here? How do we go back?"

Dorian took stock, looking around the room. One door only. They could only go forward.

"We try to find Alexius. He might still be out there. We're still in Redcliffe Castle." Faolon came to stand beside him by the door.

"The place will be crawling with enemies…" Dorian looked up at the big elf.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you." he said with a sarcastic lilt. To his surprise the Herald smirked. The Herald tried the door, then kicked it by the handle when it wouldn't open, slamming the door back, splintering the wood.

"After you." The tall elf gestured towards the door. Dorian stared up at him for a moment, before he sighed, and stepped cautiously through the door. He heard the scrape of steel behind him. The Herald had unsheathed his blade. Probably a smart move. Dorian mentally prepared himself for battle. There was no way to know what to expect. Faolon came to walk in front of him.

"Can't afford to lose the only mage I have to hand." he said quietly. Dorian didn't think one elf would be enough to stop the potential forces held within the castle from killing him if they wanted to. But he greatly appreciated the gesture.

They were pinned down in a corridor, balls of flame searing down the hallway. Arrows flew towards them, a near miss more times than Dorian would care to admit. Dorian advanced towards the Herald who was fending off three red templars. He tried to push them back, away from the elf. Faolan reached out a hand, and yanked Dorian back just as a flash of red lyrium made for his head. He cried out when the skin of his cheek split. If he had not been pulled back, he would be without a head. Faolan managed to push them back.

"Dorian!" he called.

"Still here." Now wasn't the time to be dwelling on his injuries. He continued his assault, finally managing to be rid of the disturbingly deformed enemies. Dorian rested his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. "Well you weren't wrong. This place is certainly crawling." Dorian touched his cheek when he felt blood trickling down his skin. He winced in pain.

"You need to stay back! You're a mage! You're more vulnerable in a battle!" Faolan spat, as he turned on Dorian. "You could have gotten yourself killed, then where would we be? I can't get out of here on my own. I need you to stay alive!" Dorian's heart was still pounding from the fight. He stared into the Herald's furious eyes. Dorian realised the elf was scared. Worried. He bit back a retort.

"You're right. I'm sorry." Faolan's expression softened. He reached out and took the mage's face in his hands. He was gentler than he expected, his fingers touching him very lightly.

"What are you doing?" His voice was muffled against the Herald's hand. He looked up at the man wild eyed.

"That was red lyrium. We've seen what that stuff does to people. If any of that is in your wound…" The Herald leaned in close and inspected his wound carefully. He tugged at his skin gently. "Can you heal that?" he asked quietly, his hand still upon the mage's face. Dorian nodded gently. The Herald patted him on the cheek once, before he turned back to the corridor before them. Dorian stared at his back for a moment, before lifting his hand to his cheek, healing the wound. He sucked air through his teeth at the strange sensation of his flesh stitching itself back together.

"You're not bad with that sword, Herald. I've never met an elf who was a fiercer warrior." Dorian said wryly, by way of making conversation.

"Most likely because you've only met elves who were slaves." Dorian looked down at his feet. How could he reply to that? He sighed heavily.

"Come on. We need to find Alexius."

The Herald had blood spattered on his tattooed face, fear in his eyes. A woman named Leliana stood before them, bow in hand.

"GO!" she said in a gravelly voice. Dorian had the rift open. The rift in time that would take them… somewhere. Hopefully back to where they needed to be. The world in which the Herald didn't exist was an awful place. Dorian hadn't quite realised how important the Herald was to the fight against Alexius and the cause he was bending himself to. Dorian held out his hand.

"Herald! Faolan come on!" The Herald looked at Leliana one last time.

"I'm sorry!" he cried, as he turned to Dorian, and took his hand, running with him. Again, Dorian felt the sensation of being hurled, of moving somewhere. There was no sound, there was nothing to see, nothing to feel. The only thing he was aware of was the Herald's hand in his. He could feel the elf's strong grip in his. It was a wonder that they had ended up in the same place the first time. There was no way that Dorian was going to take another chance. When the sound came rushing back in, Dorian was on his knees, gasping for air, and the Herald's hand was gone from his. When he looked up the tall elf stood with his blade to Alexius' throat. The doors at the back of the hall crashed open and soldiers poured through, headed up by the King, Alistair. They had done it. Dorian stood, wiping the dust from his knees.

Felix came to stand by him. The last time he had seen the boy in the alternate time, he had been like some sorry beast at his father's heels.

"You never cease to surprise." In a moment of emotion, the mage threw his arms around the younger man, and hugged him.

"Take care of yourself Felix. And write to me." The younger man seemed taken aback, but he hugged him back.

"Don't be getting emotional now, Dorian. If you cry I'll never let you forget it." He stepped back from Felix, and rolled his eyes.

"Just stay safe." Felix nodded.

"Don't be a martyr." The two men stared at each other, knowing what was coming. Alexius hadn't acted alone. There would be more from Tevinter behind him, giving their country even more of a bad name. Felix might not be here long enough to see the Imperium redeemed. He stood and watched as Dorian's former mentor was dragged away, surrounded by Templars and soldiers.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this Felix." The younger man looked on in silence.

"He's not himself. I would rather he be taken away than innocent people die." Dorian's eyes went to the Herald who was speaking to the King, whom he towered over. For some reason the king seemed nervous. Who was this man to make kings cower?

"And have you found my cousin yet?"

"She doesn't wish to be found, Herald." the king said, his voice sounding meek and meagre by comparison.

"How do you know that nothing bad has happened to her? How do you know she isn't dead?" Dorian was fascinated. He knew of nobody who would speak to a king that way. The man was unafraid. There was something unique about this Herald. He climbed out of the fade, and he seemed to wrap people around his little finger. He was at the front of an organisation that was gaining in power and influence, he could cut down the most powerful of beasts, he could close the very rifts in the sky, and now he could make kings cast their eyes down in shame.

When the king and his men moved out to secure the castle, Dorian moved to the Herald's side.

"You acquitted yourself very well in that crisis. If it weren't for you…" Faolan paused, then looked down at the man, and he had a warm small for the first time. His eyes betrayed his exhaustion, but Dorian also saw gratitude. "Thank you, Dorian Pavus. The Inquisition could use a man like you." Dorian smiled shyly. He had become accustomed to revulsion. He was the social pariah, and outcast. It had been a long time since somebody had thanked him. Since someone had told him he did a good job.

"You saved my life, Herald. I-"

"Please. You can call me Fay. Friends call me Fay." Dorian took a moment to collect himself. He was moved, grateful.

"Thank you…. Fay." The Herald grinned at him, took his hand and shook it.

"You're coming back with us to Haven." he said confidently. Dorian snorted in amusement.

"Am I?" A slow smile spread on Fay's face.  
"You've a good heart. You can't stay away from a good cause." The Herald walked away, and all Dorian could do was stare after him.


	3. An End

The green hole that had been torn into the sky was but a line. A delicate line that Dorian was terrified would tear open again at any time. He stood by a fire in the snow-covered Haven, and stared up at that broken sky.

"Hardly able to believe it, Sparkler?" Dorian smiled and looked down at Varric.

"I'm afraid if I stop staring at it it'll open up again. No harm in keeping an eye on it." Dorian said, his eyes returning to the sky. Varric crossed his arms and leaned back against a wall behind him.

"Everyone is inside. You know, all the sensible people. There's drinking and Wicked Grace. You should come inside and stop freezing your ass off. It'll still be there when you come back." Dorian sighed heavily, and gave the line in the sky one last lingering look.

"You're right. It isn't going anywhere. He really did it. Now I'll have to cut my holiday to this frozen waste short." Dorian turned his back on the rift and looked to the dwarf. Varric chuckled. Dorian and Varric had become fond of each other. They had a similar sense of humour. It was only to be expected that they would get along.

"He's something else isn't he? He's some elf for one elf." Varric said. Dorian stared down at the dwarf and smirked.

"Fancy him do you?" Varric chuckled at Dorian's quip.

"Come on Sparkler, everyone knows my heart belongs to Bianca. She's a jealous mistress. And if I was ever going to fall madly in love with a man, it would have to be Hawke." Varric shrugged. Dorian smiled wryly back at the dwarf. It wasn't lost on him that Varric was friends with Hawke, that he cared about him. He had written a book about the Champion of Kirkwall. He was certain there was plenty more unwritten about Varric Tethras and Garrett Hawke. Dorian, since having read the book a few years back, had wondered if there wasn't something more between the two. But Dorian would always see the world through of lens of men loving men. He enjoyed getting caught up in those flights of fancy. It was all he could truly afford to have in his life in Tevinter. His books, and his daydreams of a different kind of life.

"You have to admit, the man has style." Varric said, drawing his attention back to reality. "The Fade shits him out, and he's the only one who can close rifts? The Inquisition names him the Herald of Andraste, he recruits a buttload of mages, closes the breach and saves the world. All in the space of a few days. If I put all that down in a book I'd be called a liar."

Dorian began walking back towards the tavern of Haven, the Singing Maiden.

"Well then don't put it down in a book." Dorian said sarcastically.

"Right you are, Sparkler. Right you are." Reaching the door together, Dorian felt the blast of heat on his face. He shivered then, only just realising how absolutely frozen he was. As he made his way into the tavern, he heard a deep, dulcet laugh, that made him turn his head immediately. Faolon sat at a table with Sera, Cassandra, Cullen and Josephine. Varric was making his way over to the group grinning and rubbing the cold from his hands. Dorian supposed he should be sociable. He knew that Cassandra and Cullen didn't trust him. They possibly didn't even like him. But Fay had said that they were friends. And he should congratulate the man properly on saving them all. He walked to the table with a tentative smile on his face. The Herald was telling a story, but when he sensed somebody approaching he looked up. He locked eyes with Dorian and smiled.

"Dorian! Sit down! We were wondering where you had gotten off to." Dorian appreciated that. Fay would probably never know how much it meant to him that he was going out of his way to be a friend to him. Dorian toyed with the idea of taking the Herald aside and thanking him for his kindness, telling him how much he appreciated the effort the man made for him. He settled for a smile instead.

Varric hopped up onto the chair next to the mage and picked up a flagon of ale.

"Hope I didn't miss any potential future novels while I was out there." The dwarf took a long draught of the ale. Dorian didn't know how he could drink the swill. Ale was far too coarse of his tastes. Sera rolled her eyes.

"Elfy here was telling an elfy story about friggin elves. Boooring." The Herald chuckled at Sera's outburst. Dorian knew that most Dalish would be highly offended by Sera's aversion to their culture. But Fay seemed well adjusted enough to be amused by it. Dorian thought that perhaps that impressed him the most. At least right now.

"Cassandra asked what I'd said to King Alistair to make him squirm. I was just filling them in." Varric rubbed his hands together.

"Now that is something I was curious about. Good job, Seeker. You'll have to tell us again. It's a story I need to hear." Dorian had a suspicion about the conversation, and he was curious to see if he was correct.

"Well… You see… My cousin Shar Mahariel is the Hero of Fereldan." Cassandra still looked wide eyed from the first telling, and Varric choked on his ale. But Dorian smiled smugly. He had been correct. The Herald caught his eye for a moment, and he seemed to notice the smile.

"You're related to the Hero of Fereldan?! Andraste's ass! How did I not know this?!" Varric was still coughing and spluttering, but it appeared that nothing would stop him from hearing this story.

"She's my mother's neice. My aunt joined clan Mahariel to be with Shar's father. At clan meets we would see each other. She is a good few years older than me, but we knew each other quite well." Sera was rolling her eyes again, but nobody, not even Sera, could resist a story about the fabled Hero of Fereldan. Word of her victories had reached even as far as Tevinter. Not for the first time, he marveled at the elf. It seemed that competency ran in the family.

"Well what does that have to do with what you said to the King though?" Varric asked, an unmistakable glint in his eyes. Dorian had known a few authors in his time.

"I asked him if he had found her yet. She left her clan to be a Grey Warden, and King Alistair was the only senior Warden left after the slaughter at Ostagar. It was his responsibility to take care of her. To make matters worse they were in love. He doesn't know where she is. He had best find her and have her back. A lone hunter is twice as vulnerable." Fay seemed to bristle anew at his telling.

"Maybe they've had a falling out." Dorian suggested. It was the obvious answer to him. Fay looked his way again. He shook his head.

"She's Dalish. She doesn't walk away from relationships. It's not done." Dorian frowned. Was he suggesting hat Dalish 'mated for life'. What a curious piece of information. "She was very careful in choosing Alistair. She told me as much when I saw her last." It was clear that Fay didn't approve of Alistair for his cousin. He thought this was curious as well.

"BORING!" Sera declared again. "Let's play some games! Get piss-faced! Something that's not elfy like Lord Elfington over here." Fay laughed fully again. Dorian decided it was a very warm laugh. He liked it. It made Dorian feel as though he was in on a joke with the man. He smiled back at him.

"She has a point. Listening to me drone on is no way to celebrate. I deserve a bit more than that for saving the world don't I?" The Herald grinned toothily. Dorian noticed sharp teeth, almost like the fangs of a cat. He had never noticed such details about elves before. He told himself that he would have to pay more attention in the future. He had never noticed the differences between humans and elves besides their ears.

"If Varric insists on Wicked Grace, I'm leaving." Cassandra said darkly. The seeker looked entirely out of place here.

"Wicked Grace!" Varric announced. Cassandra made a disgusted noise and stood up.

"I'm leaving." Dorian was mildly amused. Cullen stood as well.

"I think I-" Cullen was interrupted by a loud rumble that built in intensity. Dorian looked toward the door at first, his heart in his mouth. Then a cry of pain drew his attention back to the table.

The Herald was clutching his left hand and was hunched over it. His face was screwed up in pain, his teeth bared. He cried out again, and Dorian felt a force moving through the air that made him stagger. A loud ripping sound like an explosion followed, ringing in his eardrums, vibrating his ribs, and rattling his teeth. The Herald gasped and stood, pain still apparent in his eyes.

"The breach!" he gasped. Dorian turned back toward the door and walked slowly outside. His eyes went straight to the sky and he felt like he had been punched in the gut. There was no air in his lungs. They had failed. They had been lulled into a false sense of security and the sky had torn open wider than ever before. The world was bathed in a ghastly green that touched every part of the land. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. The Herald had clawed his way out the door of the tavern, and was leaning on Dorian for support. He stared up at the sky, a look of dread and determination in his eyes. He stared at it, as though just by looking at the breach, he could make it go away.

"Close the gates." he said. Cullen emerged from behind them, running towards the gates.

"CLOSE THE GATES!" the commander called. Dorian turned to the Herald.

"Are you alright?" Dorian put an arm around the massive man's waist in an attempt to hold him up. He seemed to find his strength and he stood taller then.

"Something bad is coming." the tall elf said, still resting his hand on Dorian's shoulder. Varric and Cassandra were behind them both, now that the tavern was vomiting out people.

"Well shit." Varric uttered quietly. Fay pushed away from Dorian, and made for the gateways, pulling a hood up around him to protect him from the heavy snow.

Dorian looked back at Cassandra and Varric. The dwarf sighed heavily and started out.

"Nothing's ever simple." he said, as he trudged through the snow. Dorian followed on slowly, dreading what they were going to face. When Dorian arrived at the gates, a waif of a boy had been allowed to slip through. He was yammering at Fay about… Well Dorian didn't really know what. And then a roar echoed around the mountains. These strange and terrifying sounds would never cease to assault him, it seemed. Then he heard a deep thrum, like thunder. It was rhythmic. Like the wings of some great beast. The two sounds connected in Dorian's mind, and he could feel the blood drain from his face.

"What is that?" Fay said, running back, so he could get a better vantage point of the horizon. A hulking black form clawed its way through the sky, casting a shadow larger than life wherever it went. It roared again, winging around a central point.

"Dragon." Dorian said. Fay's jaw clenched.

"Commander, get the civilians back to a safe location. We have an army at our door."


	4. The Dawn Will Come

He was sick of snow. Before he left Tevinter, he had never seen snow in his life. He had always thought it was a whimsical thing, for children to play in. Now he despised the stuff. He glared at the thick blanket of snow that lay on the outskirts of their makeshift camp. The snow was most likely what had killed him. That caught in his throat. He stared out into the darkness, a small flame by his side his only source of heat. He watched for stragglers from the attack. Corypheus. A horror from Tevinter's past. From the time where they destroyed the Maker's Kingdom. He glared out at the silent world, waiting for nothing to happen. He had stayed behind. The Herald. He had saved them all by sacrificing himself. He couldn't sleep. The last time he had seen Fay was burned into his brain.

"Go! It's me he wants! It's this he wants!" he had said waving his hand before him. "Live for me. Don't let this be in vain! Go! Leave me!" Dorian had looked one last time in his eyes, then he had been dragged by Cassandra away. How could someone who had just come into his world, a life so vibrant and glorious, how could they be snuffed out so quickly. A brief crash, a thundering fall of snow, and there had been silence. Dorian's heart had sank and never risen again. They had trudged for days through the snow, trying to patch up their injured, trying to comfort their dying, trying to put to rest their dead. The Inquisition was hemorrhaging into oblivion. Dorian did what he could, but his heart wasn't in it. Nobody's heart was in it anymore. They were lost.

"You must be freezing out here. You should come back to camp." Dorian turned at the sound of the Commander's voice.

"Everyone seems to be very concerned with me freezing. I'll be fine, Commander. I'm a mage." He eyed the tall blonde. He stood beside him muffled up in his furs. "What are you doing out here?" Dorian asked, in a gentler voice.

"I couldn't stay in camp a second longer. We can't agree. The Inquisition is dying, and we're watching it go down in flames. We're adding tinder to the fire." Cullen shook his head and sighed heavily. "I don't know what to do… It was different when he was here. He… he held us all together." Dorian was disquieted by the distress in the former Templar's voice.

"Well. He's gone. And you all need to figure out what to do next. We're dying out here." Dorian tried to steel his voice, but he was heartbroken. Fay had been kind to him when so many had scorned him. But that was lost to him now. Fay was lost to the world.

"I'm very sad that he's gone." Cullen said with a small voice. The entirety of the camp seemed to be in mourning for Haven and for their crippling defeat. But they seemed to mourn the sacrifice of Faolan Lavellan, who had been their Herald of Andraste. A Dalish elf. The enormous impact that one elf had made on so many lives left Dorian breathless.

"As am I. He was kind to me. He called me friend." Dorian couldn't believe he said that to a former Templar, someone who he didn't think even liked him.

"You have friends here, Dorian. You will always have friends here. You've acted nobly for a greater cause. You've helped save us all once. We won't forget it. At least, I won't." Cullen smiled gently. Dorian stared at the taller man in disbelief for a moment. Maybe he had misjudged Cullen.

"I appreciate that." Cullen rested a hand on his shoulder, patting it heavily.

"Will you stay with the Inquisition if we make it out of this godforsaken frozen waste?" Dorian looked back out to the white world that surrounded them. He felt lost and hopeless. He couldn't foresee them ever making it out. He opened his mouth to answer, but then something caught his eye, making him shut it again.

"What's that?" Cullen looked out, and he seemed to see it as well. Something flashing, reflecting the light of Dorian's small fire.

"Just a wolf, probably. The fire will keep it away." But Dorian stared on. It looked awfully big to be a wolf. It was like a mass of snow moving, trudging through the snow.

"That's not a wolf. That's a person." Dorian looked on for a second longer before he tore off as fast as he could through the snow with Cullen close on his heels. Dorian's heart was pounding. It couldn't be. He couldn't believe that it was him. It wasn't him. Dorian told himself over and over again that it wasn't him, he was dead.

"By the Maker!" Cullen exclaimed. The figure in front of them fell to their knees, and then they looked up. Dorian almost stopped in his tracks.

His eyes were crusted with ice all around them, his face was incredibly pale, as pale as his almond skin could be. He collapsed further, face burrowing into the snow. Dorian rolled him over and took him into his arms. His golden eyes locked with the mage's. His breathing was shallow and his eyes were wild and haunted. His mouth was open, gasping in every breath he could, his lips pulled back in a semblance of a snarl.

"It can't be." The elf locked eyes with Dorian again, and reached up suddenly and grabbed the back of his head. He focused on Dorian's eyes, he pulled him closer.

"You… You're real." he whispered, his cold lips grazing Dorian's ear, sending a shiver through him.

"Yes Fay. I'm here. I'm with you." He looked up at Cullen who was staring with wide eyes, dumbstruck. "Get help. Quickly!" Cullen nodded quickly and darted back through the snow towards the camp.

"I saw you. In the snow. So many times." Fay said weakly, a sickly smile on his blue lips. "But I could never reach you." Dorian didn't know if the Herald meant the Inquisition forces, or he himself personally.

"You found us. I don't know how, but you're here. You're safe. We have you. You're going to be okay." Fay's hand slipped from the back of Dorian's neck to his face. His fingers slipped down his cheek as his eyes fell closed, and his body went limp. "Fay." He shook him. "Faolan. Herald!" He heard footsteps in the snow, coming fast and hard.

"Thank the Maker!" Cassandra exclaimed.

"Help me move him!" Dorian called, panic setting in.

Iron Bull ran with them. The big Qunari scooped the elf up and threw him over his shoulder.

"We need to get him back to camp now. He's freezing to death. Quickly!" Dorian snapped. He could scarcely keep up with the Qunari. The remainder of the Inquisition stood back in silence and watched as they ran past with Faolan Lavellan, who had almost died for them, to save them. And here he was, defying death again. There was less snow in the middle of the camp, thankfully. They were able to move faster.

"Set him down, here." He grabbed for a sister of the faith. "Help me." She turned to him and nodded, looking scared. She was very young. "The rest o you, get back. I need to work." He had precious little time to get this right. He was going to die. "Sister, help me take these clothes off him. One you find dry clothes, please." The sister was already pulling back the layers of the unconscious elf's clothing. Dorian pulled a wickedly sharp knife from his boot, and set about cutting the clothes from the man. They were frozen stiff in places and sopping wet in others. They wasted no time in tearing his clothes off him. Bruises covered his body, blossoming into an ugly purple. In a few places there were crusty, infected wounds. He could get to those later. He sat next to Fay on the bed they had lain him on, and hefted the heavy man into his arms embracing him. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He needed to heat the Herald's body, slowly, to bring him back to a healthy temperature.

"Sister, could you please cover the Herald over with some furs. We need to get him as warm as possible." It was only a matter of minutes, but it felt like hours holding Fay in his arms, praying that he would wake. He never did. Dorian was eventually satisfied with the Herald's body temperature. His lips were pinking up, there was colour in his cheeks, and his breathing came easier, smoother. He set him down gently, and smoothed back stray strands of hair from his face. He hadn't had a moment to think.

He stood, stretching his stiff and sore muscles. He helped the sister dress the elf in the warmest clothes that would fit him. As they went, Dorian healed the infected wounds, setting him to rights, as best he could. All the time he prayed silently to whoever would listen that they would let Fay wake up. The world needed him. Dorian sat next to his bed, slumped in a chair when he had done all that he could. He stared at him, watching his breathing, making sure it didn't stop, but it seemed steady. He was exhausted. He had expended so much of his mana saving Fay, that he was putting himself at risk. He wrapped himself in a blanket, and sat back in the chair, his feet leaning on the Herald's bed. Cullen came to sit beside him.

"Here. You need to eat." He handed Dorian a bowl of soup. He was so hungry that he wasn't going to complain.

"Thank you. I need it." Dorian wolfed into the soup immediately, appreciating the warmth in his belly.

"I can't believe it." Cullen was staring at Fay as much as Dorian was. Both of them were clearly afraid that this miracle would be ripped away from them. "What you did… You saved him Dorian." Dorian stopped eating for a moment, feeling suddenly choked up. He could hear the respect in Cullen's voice as plain as day.

"Anyone would have down what I did. But not as well. Nor would they have looked as good doing it." Dorian said flamboyantly, trying to deflect the moment. Cullen smiled slightly.

"Yes. But you did it. We're all incredibly grateful. Faolan is the figurehead we need. He's the hero that people will follow." Dorian was still reliving leaving him at Haven, turning his back and running. He still felt incredibly sick at the thought. He was reliving that moment of realisation that it was Fay crawling through the snow towards them.

"You should get some sleep while you can. I'll stay with him, I promise. I'll wake you should anything happen." Dorian considered saying no. He was about to, when he thanked Cullen.

"I definitely need some sleep. Come and get me if his condition changes." Dorian stood stiffly. He leaned down over Fay, touching his face. He looked so much younger when he was sleeping. Dorian smiled. He felt stable. He could risk getting some sleep. "Don't go anywhere." he murmured, as he patted his cheek gently. Dorian walked into the camp and found an empty bed to fall into. Sleep took him the second he closed his eyes.


	5. Abdraste's Gift

Dorian opened his eyes to the sound of song.

 _The Shepherd's lost and his Home is far,_

 _Keep to the stars,_

 _The Dawn will come._

Dorian sat up and stared about him in confusion. There was a large gathering in the centre of the camp, where he had left Fay. He scrambled upright. Why were they singing? He gasped in a breath. Was he dead? Was their Herald dead? He moved as quickly as he could through the crowd, pushing people out of the way. At the centre of the circle, the Herald stood, strong and proud, staring at the circle of singers. Their voices echoed all around the camp as Dorian's heart pounded in relief. Dorian only then realised how truly important this elf was to the Inquisition. He was something supernatural to them. Something divine to most of them. A gift from Andraste in their time of great need. Desperate need. Dorian didn't know what he believed. He didn't know if Faolan had really been saved from the Temple of Sacred Ashes by Andraste for a higher purpose. He had emerged from Haven, which had been levelled. He emerged from the freezing wastes after days alone and hurt, and he had lived. If he wasn't meant for some great purpose, Dorian doubted that anyone would be. He couldn't say for certain that he was the Herald of Andraste, but some higher power had a plan for Fay. He looked on as the Inquisition sang, strong now in the presence of their Herald. Dorian watched him for a time, curious about how the elf would take this strange show of devotion, then he left, cold and tired.

He walked back out through the crowd, wondering how one person could become so very influential. Dorian himself was completely taken in by him. There was something about Fay that Dorian couldn't quite put his finger on. His voice was deep, warm, inviting. There was something friendly about it. He could be so stern, so serious, and then suddenly a smile would form on his lips, and he would be the picture of joy. He seemed to make all around him like him. He had called Dorian friend, he had saved his life, protected him, fought for him. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was that he was willing to fight for those around him. For all of them. And then he had been willing to die for them all so that they could get away, so he could take a chance to eliminate the threat. But there was more than that. It felt… personal. Dorian could feel the ghost of his fingers gently touching his face. He remembered how close he was to him, how the sudden realisation of how big the man was hit him all at once. He remembered realising how gentle he was. When he had come crawling through the snow towards him, Dorian felt like knew life had been breathed into him. Like hope had returned to the world. But to see him blue and dying, that spark of hope had left him again. He didn't understand how one person could have such an emotional effect on him, on all these people. He thought of when he had been working on him, bringing him back to health, to safety. He was a huge man. He looked strong, hearty. But when he was frozen it didn't matter. He was weak, frail, his heart beating like that of a small bird. Dorian had seen a side to the Herald that nobody else ever actually saw. He was as fragile as any of them, and Dorian felt worried. To everyone else he was strong, indestructible. The Herald. But Dorian now saw him exactly as he was. He was mortal, as vulnerable as anyone else, and he was scared for him.

Dorian steepled his hands in front of him, watching Cullen think. He could almost hear the gears turning. The mage smirked. He had him. In two moves of less, Cullen would be his. The commander was glaring down at the board. He knew he was going to lose, and he was none too pleased about it.

"You can't escape it." Dorian said, trying and failing to keep the smugness from his voice. Cullen sighed heavily and moved his king to take Dorian's knight. The second Cullen's fingers left the knight, Dorian openly grinned. He moved his queen into position, delicately and sat back.

"Check. Mate." Cullen huffed at the mage's declaration, and sat back.

"Well played. It would seem I've become a bit rusty." At least the former templar was a good loser.

"Well any time you want me to cream you, I'd be delighted to." Dorian said sarcastically. Cullen rolled his eyes but he chuckled. Dorian heard a rustle from the garden next to him, and a thump, but he thought no more about it.

"Where id did you learn to play?" Cullen asked, good naturedly. Dorian appreciated the kindness that the man was trying to show him. He was a kind man, with a gentle heart. Dorian could see that.

"My father taught me when I was very young. He taught me to be a winner." He smiled at the memory. His father had had his tender moments with his son when he was younger. But that was all over now. Gone.

"He taught you very well if you could defeat the man in charge of our military forces." a deep, amused voice said. Cullen stood up immediately.

"Inquisitor." Fay smiled at Cullen, his eyes crinkling just a little.

"I suppose I am. How perceptive of you." he teased. Cullen chuckled again.

"I'd best be going actually. I have a mountain of reports to look over. I'll speak with you later, Inquisitor." Cullen bowed his head to the elf, turned to smile at Dorian, and then was off. Fay watched him walk away before he turned his golden eyes on Dorian, with a crooked grin. He noted that the elf was barefoot, wearing only a pair of pants. It wasn't what one would expect of a man with the title of Inquisitor.

"Will you teach me?" he asked, snapping Dorian out of his reverie.

"What?" The Inquisitor sat in the chair opposite him, and toyed with the toppled king. "Aren't you cold, Inquisitor?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow. He grinned toothily back.

"No. Certainly not like I was before. I never got to thank you for that. You saved my life." He picked up a rook and examined it, before locking eyes with Dorian. "I mean it. Thank you. I owe you my life."

He felt slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. Like the Inquisitor was seeing under his skin. Probing, searching for something. Dorian didn't know what he could hope to find, but his easy smile returned, and Dorian felt more comfortable.

"You're dodging the question. Will you teach me?" Fay gestured towards the board in front of him. Dorian mused for a moment, observing the Inquisitor, who was gazing back at him with an easy smile. He had high cheekbones, and smooth skin. He hadn't realised how attractive the man was. There was something different about how Fay was looking at him compared to before in Haven. There was a coyness about him, a playfulness. There was something about him that reminded Dorian of a cat with a ball of yarn. He couldn't help but smile at the absurd thought.

"As you wish, Inquisitor. But I do wonder if perhaps this isn't just an excuse to spend time with me. What will the neighbours say!" he said sarcastically. The Inquisitor reached behind his shoulder and pulled his white braided hair over his shoulder, running his hand over it.

"I said you could call me Fay. We're still friends, aren't we? And of course I want to spend time with you." Dorian smiled. "So will you teach me or not?" Dorian considered him for a minute, amused by this coy attitude that he had never seen before.

"Well you certainly seem persistent enough."

He explained each piece to the Inquisitor, whose eyes focused intently, concentrating on every word that Dorian said. He was staring at his mouth as though he could read the words from his lips. Then he set up the board, and started a game with him, giving him tips along the way.

"I meant what I said you know." Fay said quietly, staring at the board in concentration. He looked up after a moment of silence. "Remember… I said that I thought I had seen you in the snow. About a hundred times." Dorian thought for a moment then made his next move.

"You must have found traces of our camps in the snow." Dorian would have usually joked about what the Inquisitor had said, but the matter was still fresh in his mind, and there was still a remnant of fear in his gut for the man.

"No, I mean I saw you. Dorian Pavus. You were the last person I saw before the avalanche. I just wanted to see you again, one last time. Let you know that I'd survived." For some reason, Dorian's skin prickled.

"Well of course you wanted to see my handsome face again. Anyone would. It's a masterpiece." he said, in his best cocky voice. The Inquisitor smiled in a knowing way.

"Of course. The most handsome face." Dorian stared at him a moment more, realising it was his turn again.

"Check mate." The Inquisitor laughed that rich laugh of his that always made Dorian smile. "Well you're certainly a better loser than… what does Varric call him?"

"Curly." Fay said, with that intimate smile again. It was like he knew something that Dorian did not. It was infuriating. "I could lose to you all day. We'd better make this a regular thing if I'm to get any good." He stretched and flexed, yawning like a cat, his sharp teeth catching Dorian's attention again. "I have some matters to settle with the horsemaster. But… thank you for teaching me." Dorian watched him stand, and leave, without allowing Dorian so much as a goodbye. He stared after him, confused by the Inquisitor's strange behavior. It dawned on Dorian that his departure had seemed nervous, sudden. But that just didn't fit with what he knew of the man. What a strange day this was.


	6. The Guest

The Blades of Hessarian. He had thought they were a fairytale, a myth. But they wanted the Inquisitor's head for being a pretender. For claiming to be the Herald of Andraste. That same fear that had struck at him in the snows crept up on him again, sending a stab of fear through his belly. So many people wanted this elf dead. It was almost as though he was up against the entire world and entire mythologies as well, it would seem. Dorian watched as Fay examined the dead soldiers and scouts of the Inquisition. He seemed calm. Collected. Stern. The rain of the Storm Coast had drenched them all and set the rest of them to shivering, but Fay was still. And so very calm.

"We must report the locations of these men and women. I would see our dead respected and laid to rest." He had a very business-like tone, but there was a small crease between his brows that denoted sorrow, pain. Rage.

"It would seem that they want us to fight them. To confront them head on. I can't help but question the wisdom in doing so." Solas said, in that annoyingly ponderous voice of his. Fay rose from his hunkers, his dark black armour glinting in the small amount of sunshine that broke through the clouds. He shook his head.

"No. I will not set out to slaughter anyone. There must be another way around this." He looked to his companions. Dorian shook his head and shrugged. He knew nothing of these people. Solas wasn't forthcoming either. But Cassandra. She looked as though she might have some thoughts on the matter. That figured. She was by far the most religious of the lot of them.

"Perhaps we could simply cut the head off the snake. They must have a leader. It is for the leader to decide who is their enemy. There may be a way to put you on equal standing with whoever it is. You could challenge him." Cassandra suggested. Fay looked out towards the sea, thinking.

"We could spear two birds at once. Eliminate the threat and recruit these blades." The crease between his eyebrows disappeared. He looked out at the sea again, watching the sun. Dorian stared at him for a moment, taking him in. He knew Fay was an excellent swordsman, but these were the mythological Blades of Hessarian. Could he really defeat their leader. And would he be able to recruit them to his cause?

"We're running out of daylight. We need to make camp." He started off towards their mounts. Dorian positively despised horse-riding, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. Better to ride a horse than the monstrosity that Fay had chosen for himself. A colossal Hart with hooves bigger than Dorian's fist. The creature was incredibly gentle, and incredibly fast when he wanted to be. He was a fair climber too.

"The Inquisition has a camp not far from here. We should make it before day's end." Cassandra said, as she threw her leg over her own horse. That made Fay smile, as he patted his beast's muzzle. Dorian sighed heavily and glared at his horse. It snorted and threw its head. It knew Dorian despised it. The feeling was mutual. He mounted quickly enough. At least the horse was being cooperative. He was unsteady in the saddle though. He clung tightly with his legs, and held the reins in a death-grip. He didn't understand how Fay could ride without a saddle. He simply threw a thick blanket over the beast's back to shield it from his armour, and up he went. He watched him deftly swing up onto the towering creatures, and put his hands on the side of the animal's neck. Didn't even use reins. He didn't understand how that was physically possible, yet he was the best rider of them all.

They spent what felt like hours riding through the horribly wet and mucky land. Their horse's hooves stuck in the mud and made awful sucking sounds when they were drawn out. They were slowed down by this. Dorian stared up at the sky and wondered if this deluge would ever end. Everyone was in a foul mood. Everyone, that is, except for Fay, whom he could hear singing softly to himself in Dalish. He was swaying merrily atop the Hart's back. That made Dorian smile briefly. Dorian hated the rain. It was cold and terribly uncomfortable. He was shivering violently, his teeth set to chattering by the time a small campfire came into view. It was a miserable little flame. Dorian stared at it gloomily feeling entirely fed up with this place. His mind was filled with visions of his small nook in Skyhold with an exceptionally comfortable armchair and the dusty smell of books around him. It was so dry there. So incredibly dry and warm. Just as they reached the camp, the rain came to a sudden halt. His first reaction was relief and delight. His second, was fury. He stared up at the sky and made a rude gesture.

"Kaffas!" he swore, loudly.

He heard that hearty chuckle that he had

"It's only water Dorian. It's good luck. And look, it does fun things with your hair." Fay said, with an obvious tone of mocking. Dorian was certain that he looked like a drowned rat, while Fay, dismounting his Hart, looked like a golden god who had risen from the sea. He watched the elf wringing out his braid of long ivory hair. He glared at him behind his back. It was a sin for anyone to be so cheerful after being rained on. Cassandra made a disgusted noise and entered one of the tents presumably to dry off. Night was setting in very suddenly. It would only get more cold. Dorian headed to an empty tent to do the same. He stripped down the second he got inside, disgusted by how much his clothes were stuck to him, how much they smelled. He flung them away from him angrily before he went to pick them up so he could dry them. He wasn't the worst off he realised. Cassandra and Fay didn't have magic to dry themselves off, to take the water from their clothing. Dorian compressed the water from his clothes quickly enough. He wasn't exactly a practiced hand at this. Being away from home and servants was difficult. Trying to take care of himself was so much more difficult than he had realised. There was so much to remember. He dressed himself and sat on his camp bed. He thought he might get something to eat, retreat to his tent, read something if it had survived the water, then sleep. He stared at his feet for a while, his mind wandering beyond his own awareness. He snapped out of it when he heard that laugh, yet again. Did the man ever stop laughing? He remembered the look on Fay's face as he had come upon the bodies of the fallen Inquisition members. Fay was quite a serious man when he needed to be Dorian didn't understand how he could be so balanced.

Dorian was instantly drawn towards the warm sound, like a moth to a flame. He pulled back the flap of his tent and saw the Inquisitor wrapped warmly in a cloak with the hood drawn up around him. He sat before the fire with another elf. They seemed to be swapping stories. Dorian approached them slowly. He examined the other elf. A woman with a bare face. An Alienage elf then? Or was she too young to receive her valaslin? It was hard to tell the age of elves. The elf maid looked up when she heard Dorian approach. He could see the firelight reflecting off her eyes like it would do with an animal's eyes. Just as Fey's did. Her laughter died in her throat, and she fell silent. Fay looked around.

"All dry? Sit down Dorian. This is Ella. She's from the Alienage in Kirkwall, can you believe that?! She's come all this way!" Ella smiled shyly at the Inquisitor. Dorian sat by the fire and warmed his hands, glancing between the two.

"Lovely to meet you Ella. Dorian Pavus." he said, his eyes still darting between the two of them. The elf maid noticed this and blushed, but she looked pleased. He was starting to get the inkling that he was interrupting something. He felt quite strange, suddenly. Angry almost, but not quite. He wasn't sure if he was angry at the elf maid of Fay. Maybe both. He could scarcely stop himself from glaring at Fay. He listened as the Inquisitor talked to the woman asking her about the culture of her people, their beliefs, what their quality of life was like in the Alienage. It should have been fascinating, but it was infuriating. Why should he be angry if Fay was talking to another elf?

"I think I'll go." Dorian said, forcing a smile. He watched the Inquisitor's face turn from a smile to despair in the space of a second.

"Oh. Yes. Well… goodnight, my friend." He sounded completely distraught, but Dorian left anyways.

When he had a moment to think alone, that strange angry feeling dissipated quickly. He didn't know what had come over him. He sat on his bed and dressed himself warmly for bed. What the mage really should have been feeling was amazement. Dorian didn't know a terrible amount about elves, but he knew that Dalish and city elves often didn't get along. There was too much of a divide between them. Dalish elves thought their city dwelling brethren as out of touch, and wrong. City elves saw the Dalish as a people who thought themselves superior. But here was Fay, making common cause with a girl from the Kirkwall Alienage, marveling in her presence, asking about her culture, becoming friends with her. He didn't understand why he had felt the need to be angry, why he had stormed away like a small child. He felt incredibly stupid for having behaved so childishly. He fell asleep sullenly, feeling absolutely disgusted with himself.


	7. Lilacs

Dorian groaned in pain as he shifted himself in his armchair. He had propped his leg up on a small footstool piled with plump red cushions. He was trying his best not to move, but even so, the pain lanced through him. He leaned his head back and gritted his teeth. What a stupid way to have injured himself. The dead has risen in the swamps of the Fallow Mire. They had been surrounded. Dorian had set his foot down to perform what was certain to have been some very impressive magic, and he had twisted his entire leg gruesomely in what turned out to be a pitfall. He was still furiously humiliated by the whole affair. Defeated by a glorified puddle. How mortifying. Fay had had to throw him over his shoulder and carry him to safety. The elf had simultaneously held off the hoard of the undead. Dorian glared at the book he was trying to read as he remembered the day he had embarrassed himself beyond saving. The Inquisitor had behaved so impressively as usual, carrying Dorian, fighting undead, closing rifts, saving people. It made Dorian sick humiliation. Fay had fussed over him, incredibly worried when he set him down. He had hovered quite annoyingly, actually. But Dorian couldn't stay angry at him. He had gotten back to Skyhold last night, and tried to repair what damage he had done to himself, but there wasn't much he could do. Solas had recommended rest, so here he was, sulking with his books.

He heard footsteps on the tower stairs. Light footsteps like an elf. Probably Solas come to irritate him. He closed his eyes for a second in annoyance, then opened them to find Fay gazing down at him with a crease between his brows. Dorian tried to sit up straighter, but only ended up hurting himself more. He gritted his teeth and gasped in pain again. The Inquisitor made to spring towards him and stopped short.

"No! Stay still! Please don't hurt yourself." Fay's eyes looked even larger than normal. Dorian noticed he clutched a small vase with flowers in his big hands.

"Have you brought me flowers, Inquisitor? You shouldn't have. You'll make Solas jealous." he joked, in an attempt to bring some levity to the encounter. Fay graced him with one of those special smiles of his. His smiles that were honest, that revealed how tired he was, how fragile he was. How worried he was. Dorian was touched, truly.

"They're lilacs. I'm sure they have some sort of meaning, but I just thought they were colourful…" The large man sheepishly set the lilacs down next to Dorian. The mage sighed as quietly as he could manage. He wondered if Fay knew what effect he had on those around them. Was it deliberate the way he made hearts hammer? Did it just come naturally to him?

"Thank you Faolan." The elf tilted his head and cocked his eyebrow.

"I'll let that one slide seeing as you're injured. I hate being called that." The elf who was dressed warmly enough in wolf fur, leaned against the railing across from Dorian. "How are you feeling Dorian?" he asked gently, his golden gaze piercing Dorian's very soul. He felt a shiver running down his spine at the sound of his name leaving that man's lips.

He looked away and tried to laugh it off.

"I've been better. The fact that I have no-one to peel my grapes is still my biggest complaint by far." He looked back at the elf with the wryest smile he could muster. The Inquisitor was staring at him with hooded eyes. Dorian couldn't even begin to decipher that look before it disappeared.

"I would offer, but I fear I would be disowned by my clan for serving a Vint." Dorian was taken aback by the flippant remark. The elf's gaze had hardened slightly. That couldn't be good. What had he said? Dorian could see that Fay's jaw was clenched, but then he saw tension dropping from the man's shoulder's, and his jaw relaxing. He heard the elf inhale deeply. "This must be quite a culture shock for you." he said patiently.

"It is." Dorian said quietly. There were, of course, aspects of his homeland that he missed dearly. Then there were aspects he abhorred and wanted to never revisit. He started to get an inkling of what had upset Fay in that moment, and he was afraid that they wouldn't agree on the topic. He thought it best to avoid talk of slavery at all. "I feel entirely out of place here." he said instead. Fay's face softened further.

"I can understand that, believe me. I'm Dalish, and I command hundreds, if not thousands of shemlen. It is… unprecedented. Yet there are still those among us who call me knife ear. Those who unwittingly insult my people to my face. Who in their ignorance gravely wrong me. And there are few who understand my customs, the things I do, the things I say. The only one I can speak my own language with is Solas, yet he still despises my culture and all it stands for. I understand you, Dorian. Better than you realise." Fay sounded incredibly sad as he spoke. Desperate almost. Dorian wished he could reach out, wished he could comfort the man. But he had pathetically injured himself.

"I'm sorry Fay. I'm sure we will come across your clan soon. It would be advantageous to have your people on side." Fay blinked slowly and pushed himself away from the railing.

"I'd like to believe that. I'd like to believe my people would help… But I don't know." He sighed heavily, then took Dorian's hand up in both of his. Dorian could only stare up at the man. "Please take care of yourself, Dorian. We need you." He pressed his forehead against the mage's hand and smiled softly.

"Believe me, I try my very best. But how can I be expected to defend myself against puddles?" The Inquisitor snorted a laugh then started to back away, holding his hand until the last possible second.

"Enjoy the lilacs." There was that wry, coy tone again. The one that drove him insane. He didn't know what it meant, if anything. But he knew how it made him feel. It made him feel a way that he shouldn't. He felt warm all over, he felt his heart rate climbing, he felt his stomach pitch and roll. He watched the Inquisitor walk away, feeling more confused than ever before.

Dorian carefully examined the collection the peddler had on offer. Skyhold had a growing collection of tomes, but they were missing some useful books.

"Won't find a better price anywhere else." the peddler said, in her most seductive of tones. Dorian resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Please. You think because we're the Inquisition you can take advantage of us this way? Show me your best books, and not this drivel. And I expect a better price." The dark-skinned woman gave him a long look, then graced him with a sultry smile.

"You've a perceptive eye Serah Pavus." She swapped out the books for some rarer tomes, and that was when the real haggling began, and the outrageous flirtation followed suit. When the whole encounter was done with, he felt he had done well for himself.

"You've robbed me blind, Pavus, and I'm thanking you for the privilege." The woman shook her head and smiled. "I hope your purchases bring you happiness." Dorian smirked at the woman, as he clutched his stack of books tightly to his chest.

"I'm sure they will bring me many hours of entertainment. Safe travels." The woman gave him a withering look as he walked away. He headed towards a set of stairs that would take him atop the battlements. He liked to walk there on the days when the weather was clear.

There was a stiff breeze up on the battlements today. He shuddered against the cold, and pulled his cloak up further around his neck. He found that the wind helped him think, as though it cleared the cobwebs from his mind. He gazed out around Skyhold, taking in the view of the impressive fortress. The place seemed to be teeming with people. Soldiers, spies, mages, merchants. His eyes locked on an argument between a soldier and a mage. It didn't seem to be too heated, but all the same, he watched it closely. Things had been tense in the past between the mages and the Inquisition forces. The argument went on for some time before it was interrupted. Fay stepped in between them, holding them both apart with strong hands. He spoke quiet words, he gave stern looks, and after a time, the soldier and the mage looked at one another and shook hands. Fay was then all easy smiles, joking and reassuring the two, before heading on his way. Dorian leaned heavily on the wall of the battlements as he followed the elf with his eyes. How could he do that? How could he de-escalate these situations with such ease? How was it that simple? The tall elf made his way over to the practice dummies with long strides. It all came so easily to him. Maybe that was why he was the Inquisitor. He watched the distant Inquisitor shrug out of his jerkin and unsheathe his sword. His almond skin prickled from the cold, and a shiver wracked his body, but the elf focused on what he had come out to do, and formed up with an easy grace that came from years of practice. He watched the muscle's in the man's arms bulge as he struck at the wooden figures. He examined the curve of the man's smooth back, the way his shoulders bunched together, warping the lines of the fine tattoos that sprawled down to his hands on both arms. Dorian hadn't noticed it, but his heart was hammering, and he had broken out in a sweat. He could hear the elf's voice carrying across the courtyard with each strike. Dorian felt his breath quickening, his fingers tightening their grip on the books he held. It was time to face facts. He was attracted to Fay. Incredibly attracted to Fay.

His attraction towards the elf could go nowhere. There were already rumours flying about himself and the Inquisitor. That the mage from the Tevinter Imperium was having undue influence over the Inquisitor, towards his own ends. That there was an 'unnatural', 'unholy' relationship between the two of them. Even with the rumours, support for the Inquisition was flagging. Dorian had seriously considered leaving a hundred times. But he was still here. Dorian could never confess how he was starting to feel. Not to anyone. Especially not to Fay. He realised that he was afraid of what Fay would think. His opinion meant a great deal to him. He had thought about kissing Fay a lot lately. About touching his face gently before leaning in and kissing him softly. In the good daydreams Fay would kiss him back, passionately. Things sometimes progressed. Dorian shouldn't even think of those things. Because what he viewed to be the more realistic imaginings was Fay's rejection. His disgust. That he would push Dorian away from him if he kissed him. That he would command him to leave. That he would revile him for thinking these things of him. He watched Fay swing his sword expertly, his brow furrowed in focus, his lips parted. What was this sweet ache? To know that he could never have this, yet to be unable to leave. To be forced to watch everything he could ever possibly want exist before his very eyes, yet never be able to have it? Fay dropped his arms and straightened up. He could see the elf's breath fogging on the cold air. He tilted his head, and his eyes locked onto Dorian. He was still catching his breath, but he smiled. It was that tired smile that made Dorian want to melt. He tried his best to smile. Fay continued to stare up at him for a time, and Dorian physically felt as though he couldn't drag his gaze away. Cullen approached the Inquisitor at a jog, breaking the spell. He handed a letter to him, which the Inquisitor focused on immediately. He folded the paper over and began to walk, Cullen following after him at a brisk pace. Nothing would ever be simple. Not when the man he wanted was the Inquisitor. He flicked through one of the books he had just bought, stopping on a picture of lilacs. He smiled remembering the kindness of the gesture. The Inquisitor was a surprisingly sweet man. His eyes went to the inscription beneath the plate.

"Lilacs symbolise first love for young Dalish…" he trailed off as he realised what he was reading. Surely not. He snapped the book shut and stared off towards the distance. He was surely jumping to conclusions. Surely.


	8. Cramped Conditions

Dorian stared at the darkness above him, his mind racing. There was silence all around him. Silence broken only by the deep and steady breathing of the man beside him. Fay slept soundly beside him, his thick furs curled up under his cheek. The silence was further broken by the howling wind shaking the small tent they were both crowded into. Emprise Du Lion was an unforgiving frozen wasteland. Dorian didn't know why he insisted on going out to all of these ghastly places. He sighed heavily in frustration. Yes. He did know why. He turned over and stared at Fay's barely visible back. He was beginning to get a sense that he would follow Fay anywhere. To the ends of the earth. He stared at the long fall of the elf's tangled ivory hair. He had been asleep by the time Dorian had bundled himself inside the small tent. He must have undone his hair from the long braid he usually kept it in before he went to sleep. It was the details like this that Dorian relished in. He couldn't sleep. His head was full of these details. That toothy, tired smile. His warm, baritone laugh. The way he gave Dorian a foot up onto his horse, his hand resting on Dorian's thigh for just a moment as he turned away. The way he would stay close to Dorian when they fought their enemies, how he would reach out and touch his shoulder to reassure him that he was there. That he would protect him.

Dorian took a sharp intake of breath, and almost reached out to touch him. To wake him and blurt it all out. Blurt out that he felt something. Something he shouldn't feel. Something he couldn't stop himself from feeling. He wanted to shake him, to reach out and touch him tenderly, to kiss him and beg him to understand. But his hands remained by his side, steadfast, twisted in the fabric of the blanket. He couldn't deny this to himself any longer. It had been building up for so long and it was all consuming. Since that first moment in the chantry when Fay Lavellan had looked at him, he had been lost. It may have taken him some time to see it fully, but now that he had, he was blinded by it. He sighed heavily again, feeling tormented.

"Can't sleep?" Dorian almost jumped a mile high. He clutched at his heart and propped himself up on an elbow, staring at the still elf.

"What?" he whispered, now doubting if he had really heard him speak. Then the big man moved, turning over to stare up at Dorian with those luminescent eyes. Fay groaned and stretched beneath his furs.

"Can't sleep?" he asked again, his voice rumbling in the dark, like a soft thunder. Dorian tried to smile.

"It's too cold to sleep." he said, trying to joke. Even in the dark, Dorian could see that infuriating smirk. He lifted up his furs and draped them over Dorian, moving closer to him. He opened his arms.

"Come here." he said quietly.

"What?" The mage was noticing that he was making very original and intelligent conversation. He was glad it was dark so that Fay couldn't see him blushing furiously.

"In the Dalish clans," Fay began, in that confident tone of voice he had. "We have to come up with effective ways of staying warm in the harsh weather. Staying close together is one of the most effective ways." Fay motioned with a hand. "So come here." Dorian closed his eyes for a moment. This wasn't fair. But he couldn't deny himself the chance to lie in Fay's arms. He moved in closer to him, and allowed Fay to envelope him. He could feel the body heat from the elf seeping into him almost immediately. Fay rested his head on the top of Dorian's head. Of all the things he thought he would feel, this overwhelming sense of rightness wasn't one of them.

"Can't handle the cold, Vint?" he asked, gently. Dorian couldn't help but chuckle.

"You know, sometimes you make me think you hate me." he said shyly. The effect was instantaneous.

"Why would you think that? I could never hate you, Dorian." Dorian couldn't be sure, but he could have almost sworn that he felt Fay's arms tighten around him. "Would you believe it, I'm actually rather fond of you?" he said softly. That sent a shiver down Dorian's spine.

"I don't believe a word of it." he said coyly. Dorian felt, more so than heard, that rich laugh rumbling through Fay's chest.

"What would I do without my favourite mage? I'd be lost without you." Dorian shifted his weight slightly. Though he was smiling, he felt like his heart was breaking. He wished that Fay knew the effect he was having by saying these things. He knew that he didn't feel at all the same way that Dorian felt. Dorian would never have this. He would never have a man like Fay hold him and speak meaningless nothings to him in the middle of the night. It simply could never be.

"Are you sure that Solas isn't your favourite mage? He does have such an admirably shiny head." Fay laughed again, quietly. Dorian would have almost described it as intimate. Almost.

"That egghead? You must be joking. He hates everything my culture stands for. I know I'm the Dalish elf here, but Solas is definitely the most 'elfy'. No. I much prefer a mage who can grow an impressive moustache." Despite feeling that torturous yearning for the man, Dorian was grateful that they could have conversations like this. That they could be friends.

"Ah! I see. So Vivienne is your favourite mage then." An ungodly guffaw escaped Fay's lips at Dorian's wry comment. He clapped his hand over his mouth. Dorian chuckled quietly. It was a pleasant reminder of Fay's youth. He was the larger than life Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, an excellent warrior. But he was still a young man.

"Don't say that too loudly. I swear, she'd hear." he whispered. Dorian chuckled quietly again, before sighing heavily. "Have you warmed up?" the elf asked, some time later, his voice cracking slightly.

"Yes. I have thank you." He made to move away from Fay, but found that the elf still had his arms around him rather securely. He then heard a very deep, steady breath. Fay had fallen asleep in the time it took for Dorian to reply to him. Dorian couldn't help but sigh again. The sun was starting to rise on the horizon, bringing a small measure of light into the cramped tent. Fay's face was entirely relaxed. Youthful. He grumbled quietly in his sleep and pulled Dorian closer. This wasn't right. He shouldn't be here when Fay didn't know, when he didn't realise Dorian's feelings. He carefully and very slowly removed himself from the man's arms, staring sadly at what he was certain he could never have. With one last look, Dorian closed his eyes, and resigned himself to sleep.

A gentle singing woke Dorian. The words of the song were like memories carried on the stiff, cold wind. Mournful, beautiful, hopeful. Dorian didn't understand a word of it. He opened his eyes reluctantly. Fay was sitting at the far corner of the small tent, singing absentmindedly. Dorian smiled softly. He couldn't be angry at being woken by a singing elf. He watched him for a time. Fay was deftly braiding his impossibly long hair. Dorian smiled sleepily at him. When Fay looked over toward him after a while, his singing stopped short, as did his braiding.

"Ir abelas! Did I wake you?" Dorian looked away. He didn't know how to take it anymore. He didn't know how to look at Fay and not allow the pain he felt to be blaringly apparent.

"Not at all. There are worse ways to wake up." He was pleased with how nonchalant and upbeat he sounded. He risked a look at the elf, who was grinning toothily at him. His heart jumped, but he smiled back. "Do you have to braid that every morning?" Fay rolled his eyes.

"Unless I want it to get impossibly tangled in the wind. Perks of being 'moon-kissed'." he said sarcastically. Once he had finally come to the end of his hair, he dropped his arms and rolled his neck. "I would offer to braid your hair, but you don't have nearly enough." the elf said wryly. Dorian's hand instantly flew to his hair.

"Do you not like my hair?" He was genuinely concerned. Dorian never really knew what to make of his physical appearance. He was all bluster and forced ego, but inside he just didn't really know what to think. He thought that if he convinced himself that he was attractive for long enough, it was sure to be true.

Fay reached out his long arm and ruffled Dorian's hair in a frustratingly brotherly way.

"Don't be silly. Your hair is the height of fashion. It's rather fetching." Fay shifted his attention to donning his armour over his many layers of clothes. Dorian was loathe to get up, loathe to part from the warmth of the furs.

"Make sure you wrap up a bit better today. I don't want you freezing to death." Fay said sternly, buckling his sword to his hip. Dorian couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I'm serious! You're going to get ice in your blood, and you'll lose your fingers." Dorian could have laughed at the stern tone to his voice.

"I'll be fine. It's just a little snow." Dorian finally threw aside the furs and set about dressing himself for the cold.

"You don't understand. I've lived most of my life out in the elements, in the rains and the snows, and I've still almost frozen to death. You saw me. So please. Take care of yourself." Fay finished pinning a cloak around his shoulders, then departed through the flap of the tent. He did nothing but confuse him. There were moments when they would get along so well. Moments that Dorian could almost fool himself into thinking that Fay liked him. That he had some feelings towards him. And then there were times like this. Where his anger towards Dorian was visible. He didn't know exactly what he had done this time, but Fay was angry. This was all so confusing to him. He dressed himself in a stony silence, and headed out into the still snowy world. Fay stood by the horses, patting down Dorian's mount. The mage cautiously walked over to him. Fay gave him a cursory once over.

"I'm sorry." he said, avoiding the mage's gaze. Dorian just could not figure out this man. Fay sighed heavily, and cupped his hands, hunkering down. Dorian rested his hand on Fay's shoulder for a moment, looking down at the hunkered elf. He allowed Fay to give him a leg up onto his horse, as was becoming their custom. "Just… Just stay safe, okay?" Fay rested his hand on Dorian's leg for a moment. Dorian's hand brushed Fay's briefly. The elf caught at his fingers. Dorian looked down into Fay's eyes. His breath caught, and he tried to speak, but before he could get a word out, the elf had moved off towards his hart. He mounted himself up in one fluid motion and set off. Dorian could only stare after him for a moment, so complete was his confusion about the man.


	9. Halamshiral

Dorian stood with a drink in his hand, feeling dangerously inebriated, staring down at the dancing. Fay danced beautifully with Grand Duchess Florianne. Dorian didn't quite know how the elf had learned to dance like an Orlesian noble, but he suspected Leliana had a hand in this. Fay's braid whipped out behind him as he spun the Duchess around with strong hands. He was keeping up a charming, smiling façade. People flocked to the balustrade to watch, admiring the Inquisitor, whispering about him behind their fans. Dorian really couldn't blame them. He downed the last of his drink and moved away, unable to watch any longer. He left his empty glass down on a passing tray without looking. It disturbed him how easily he fell back into the ways of elite life. He had forgotten how much he had taken for granted. How easy it was to allow people to do everything for him. The crowd parted before him, giving him sideways glances. Ever the social pariah. He made his way out into the gardens where he stood alone, staring at the party around him. Nobody would approach him. Nobody would look at him without sneering, and whispering. He picked up another glass from a passing tray. Bringing him here was a mistake. He stared out at the Dales, watching the still landscape. He wondered if Fay's clan was out there somewhere, sleeping around their aravels, feeding their halla. He sighed heavily, and sipped at the bitter white wine. There were worse wines.

"Maker's Breath! Why did I come here?" Dorian looked up at a very flustered and harassed looking Commander Cullen.

"My thoughts exactly." Dorian said, as he took another sip. He had noticed that the Commander had drawn a great number of admirers. They had been pawing at the man all night, enquiring after his marital status.

"I thought this would be right up your alley. Fancy party in a winter palace…" Bless him. The Commander actually sounded confused.

"Believe me, it should be. But the fact that I'm from Tevinter tends to rub most people the wrong way." Cullen's look of remorse was instantaneous.

"Forgive me. I didn't… I didn't think." Cullen spluttered in that adorable way that he had. Dorian smiled despite himself and clapped the blonde man on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Cullen. I daresay you've more to be worrying about. How many proposals have you received tonight?" Cullen rolled his eyes at Dorian's half-hearted jab.

"About thirteen. I'd rather they didn't, but none of them seem to understand that." Talking to Cullen had actually brightened his mood. Dorian found that his smiles were coming easier.

"Ah yes. Of course. That would be incredibly irksome. I wouldn't mind some bothering. But then again, I'm not in love with an impossible woman." Dorian sipped from his glass again, staring over the rim at Cullen. The former templar could only stare at him sullenly.

"How do you know about that?" Cullen asked quietly. Dorian gave him a reassuring smile.

"How do I know about Vala Amell? You mean… Garrett Hawke's cousin? The mage who sojourned at Kinloch for a time? The woman who is close friends with the Hero of Fereldan, who happens to be the Inquisitor's cousin? Yes. How indeed do I know?" Cullen still looked a little bit upset. Was Dorian making sense? Worse, was he saying something offensive? He was drunk. His judgement was impaired. "I know things Cullen. I know things were tough in your past. But she never blamed you. And I know you've always had feelings for her. You just wish you could tell her." Cullen sighed heavily and plucked the small glass from Dorian's hand.

"You've had enough to drink." Dorian protested feebly until Cullen gave him a stern look. "You're suffering. Talk." Dorian rolled his eyes. He was about to argue when Cullen interrupted. "Look. You and I are friends. I like to think we're good friends. So don't insult me by dragging up my past and avoiding your own problems. Now tell me what's really wrong, Dorian." Cullen had spoken in such a matter-of-fact way, that Dorian was dumbstruck. Nobody had ever spoken to him that way before. He had had harsh, blunt words directed towards him before, but there had never been caring behind the hard words before. He stared into Cullen's steely gaze.

"Fine. Fine! You're right. There is something on my mind, and I'm… very drunk." Cullen sighed.

"No more drinking. And come with me." Cullen grabbed Dorian's arm, and tugged him along after him.

"Where are you taking me?" he slurred, stumbling after the Commander.

"The only place in this godforsaken palace we won't be overheard. You're going to tell me everything."

Dorian hadn't been paying full attention. His eyes had been drawn to Fay instantly, who was conversing and laughing with the Empress's handmaidens. But then Cullen was holding his hand, and had his other hand on his waist. With a sudden stab of dread, he realised that he was dancing. In full view of the Orlesian court. With Cullen Rutherford. This wasn't something he had seen himself doing anytime soon.

"What are you doing?! You'll be shunned!" Dorian hissed, as he danced with the man, leading him like second nature.

"Good. I would prefer to be left alone. I hope your pariah nature rubs off on me. Now! Tell what it is, Dorian! You're insufferable when you're moody." Cullen said, through a very fake smile. Dorian was touched, truly, that Cullen would care enough to notice that something was wrong.

"It's about the Inquisitor, I'm afraid." Having to concentrate somewhat on dancing, and not stepping on Cullen's toes was sobering him somewhat. Cullen stared down at him for a moment, looking very serious.

"You're in love with him." Cullen whispered. The music and laughter and conversation drowned out his words enough, that Dorian was confident they weren't overheard.

"No!" he gasped. Cullen gave him another stern look. It would appear Cullen wanted only the truth, and would allow him no lies. "I don't love him. But…" Dorian saw Cullen's heavy sigh more so than hearing it.

"Have you told him? Is that why you're… Has he rejected you?" Dorian was again surprised by the tenderness in the man's voice. Dorian shook his head.

"No. I can't tell him, can I?" Dorian thought he would feel agonised eternally at the situation, but talking to Cullen about it felt like a weight being lifted from his shoulders.

"Why ever not? He's a reasonable man. You don't know how he might feel." Cullen was trying his best to sound hopeful, and Dorian appreciated it, he really did.

"It wouldn't be good for the Inquisition." Dorian tried his best to keep a stiff upper lip.

The dance ended, and Cullen walked with Dorian back up the steps, and out to the garden, where they had a slight less chance of being overheard. Cullen looked as though he was carefully formulating his words, planning out exactly what he was going to say. The fresh, cool air helped to clear Dorian's head some more. When they stopped walking, and Cullen was still silent, Dorian found that his patience had run out.  
"Out with it." he hissed, hardly able to bear waiting for whatever the Commander had to say next.

"Dorian… Fay isn't the Inquisition. He's a man. A man you have feelings for. He's very fond of you, anyone can see that. Knowing him… If you did decide to tell him, even if he didn't feel the same way, I know he would understand. Your friendship with him wouldn't be at risk. The way I see it… You've nothing to lose." He was shocked by this perspective. Dorian had been habitually greeted with disgust and scorn all his life. With any man he had ever been with, talk of emotions had never factored into it. Dorian was scared of what he was feeling. Scared of what it could all mean. Scared of getting his heart broken. But how could ever possibly explain it to Cullen. He wouldn't ever understand. Would he? Maybe he was wrong about the Commander, but now was not the time to explore the emotional depths of their friendship.

"Thanks, Cullen. I'll think about it." He said in a lackluster tone of voice. Cullen understood this to mean that their conversation on the topic was at an end. He clapped him on the back.

"Well… Try to sober up. Eat something. Drink some water. I'm sure the Inquisitor will have need of us later." Cullen smiled warmly before departing. Dorian was left alone, staring out at the Dales, having somewhat of a crisis. He didn't know what to do. And his slowly sobering mind didn't make the matter any easier.

The Empress was dead. Dorian had watched in shocked silence as Florianne killed the woman, after which the Inquisition forces stepped in to seize her. Gaspard would be the Emperor of Orlais. And it would seem that he would be a loyal ally to the Inquisition. All the same, Dorian was disturbed by this move. He knew that Inquisition had let her die. That they had done some very morbid, and dangerous politicking to get the best ally they could get. Dorian had turned away when it was all said and done. He had watched the Inquisitor walking slowly through the crowd, stony faced and grim. They parted for him, their copious admiration for him having boiled down to respect, and a little bit of fear. Dorian had watched him walk., tracking his every movement with his eyes. He was only now realising the true power that the man had. He was only now realising the full burden of his title. The weight he was carrying on his shoulders was almost visible. Dorian didn't know that he would cope anywhere near as well as Fay did with such power and responsibilities. Such awful decisions about whether a woman would die or not. This couldn't be easy for him. He probably needed a friend. Dorian cut through the crowd silently, following the path the Inquisitor had taken. He had gone out to the balcony overlooking the gardens. And the Dales. The poor man must miss home terribly. He must miss his family.

There was something of a stiff breeze out on the balcony. It was enough to make Dorian shiver. But he would brave any cold for Fay. The elf's ears pricked, and he turned his head very slightly. But he did not turn around. He did not look.

"Dorian." he said, his voice almost a whisper. How had he known it was him? Had he seen him follow? Did he know the sound of his footsteps. Somehow, Dorian thought it was the latter. He walked to stand beside the man, then leaned against the railing of the balcony, not looking directly at him. By this point, Dorian had sobered up marvelously over the course of the night. He was almost in his right mind.

"Tell me about your family, Fay." he blurted. Well, not entirely in his right mind then.

"What?" There was some amusement in the elf's voice. He turned to look at him then. Dorian turned his head to look back.

"Tell me about your family. It occurs to me that I know next to nothing about them. I just know that you have one." Dorian trailed a finger along the railing, trying his very best to sound lighthearted.

"I suppose I do have a family. They're probably right out there, actually. At this time of year." Fay said, with a very strong tone of longing in his voice. "I have four siblings. Two brothers, and two sisters. Falkas, my eldest brother, Mira, my eldest sister, then Erin, my older sister, and Dúl, my slightly older brother." Talking about his siblings had set Fay to smiling. Dorian was surprised that he had so many siblings.

"Wow… That's… That's a lot of you."

"Don't have any brothers or sisters then I take it?" Fay said, actually grinning now. Dorian shook his head, and stared out at the horizon, wondering what Fay's family looked like.

"My sister, Mira. She's the Keeper of the Clan. Very stoic and responsible. She has two sons. And…" He paused for a second, and his face seemed to change for a moment. "And a little girl." He looked out into the Dales, searching it with his eyes. "And the last time I saw Falkas, his wife was pregnant." Fay turned around to look at Dorian, leaning his Fay turned around to look at Dorian, leaning his back against the railing, focusing all of his attention on the mage. "I'm glad you were here tonight, Dorian." he said softly. "Who else could possibly cheer me up after this terrible turn of events." Dorian must have still been a little bit drunk, because he could have sworn the look Fay gave him was more of a smolder. Dorian cleared his throat and looked away.

"Well… I certainly enjoyed watching you wrap an entire Empire around your little finger, I must admit." Fay laughed that inviting laugh of his, that was deep and throaty. It sent Dorian's heart racing.

"Dorian… You know how you came out here to cheer me up?" Fay said, in a voice that could only be described as flirtatious.

"What can I do for you, my friend?" Fay smiled shyly and bit his lip. Dorian couldn't help but enjoy this. His mind was too buzzed from the alcohol to be plagued by thoughts of how they could never be together.

"Dance with me." he said, standing straight, and was suddenly inches from him. Dorian chuckled, nervously.

"What?" The elf smiled softly, his eyes examining every inch of Dorian's face.

"I saw you dancing with Cullen earlier. I was jealous. I want you to dance with me like that. So… Will you?" Fay asked, taking up Dorian's hand in his gentle, but firm grasp. Dorian couldn't help but blush. Had he really been jealous? He could only hope.

"Very well. But so long as I don't have to go back in there." Dorian said, holding Fay's hand up. Fay placed his other hand around Dorian's waist, making him gasp in a breath. He rested his own hand on the elf's shoulder. Fay began to dance them slowly, to their own music. Dorian sighed. He couldn't help but hope. Fay was gazing down at him, with warm eyes. Suddenly, Fay brought his hand up to frame the mage's face. He had stopped dancing and was staring down into Dorian's eyes.

"Fay I-" He was going to tell him. He had to. Cullen was right. He deserved to know, and he had nothing to lose. But before he could get a word out he was silenced.

By Fay's lips.

Dorian immediately melted into the kiss, allowing himself to be held up by the elf. Fay's hand cradled Dorian's head, his fingers twining into the man's hair. It was happening. It was perfect. But then he had to realise. He had to panic. His eyes snapped open, and he pushed against Fay. Fay separated immediately, releasing him, and taking a step back.

"What… Why did you…?" Dorian spluttered, crashing back down to reality.

"I'm so sorry!" Fay gasped, looking horrified. He a hand over his mouth. "I didn't mean… I am sorry for causing offence. Please… Forgive me." Dorian watched the elf bow from the waist, then beat a hasty escape. All the while he was dumbstruck. Silent. He watched as the man he wanted more than anything in the world walked away from him. After he had kissed him. Dorian stared after him horrified. He had kissed him. _Fay_ had kissed _him_. Never would that have happened in his wildest dreams, and he had reacted poorly. He had ruined it. He stood alone on the balcony trying to catch his breath, and cursing his own stupidity and cowardice.


	10. Absence Tells the Hardest Truth

He stared out across the surrounding area of Skyhold. They were late. A week late. Dorian was worried. He sighed heavily, a gnawing pit in his stomach getting deeper. He shivered in the cold, but decided to watch for just a moment longer. What if Fay was injured? What if he was dead? Dorian was nearly sick at the thought. Just a moment longer. He rested his hand on the fortress wall, staring out, praying to whoever would listen that he would see the horses appear on the horizon. But they didn't and the day ticked by, the sun edging further down the sky. He had spent days this way, and every time, he left the wall with his heart in his mouth. He heard delicate footsteps behind him. Heel, toe, heel, toe. A woman. Not just any woman, but Josephine Montilyet. Dorian glanced towards her. Her delicate little steps stopped just beside him.

"I see I'm not the only one worried about the Lord Inquisitor." Her delicate voice intruded on Dorian's silent panic. He felt slightly irked by her presence. He was used to being alone, especially in times of trial. Why did she have to care?

"I'm certain he's well. He's grown. He can take care of himself." Dorian shared a look with Josephine and it was clear that neither of them really believed a word he had said.

"Dorian, you've been out here for days. I assure you, I can have someone inform you the second he returns. But please, I must insist that you retire this effort. You're going to exhaust yourself." Josephine put her small hand on Dorian's shoulder. He sighed deeply and looked down at the short Antivan lady.

"I know, I know. You're right. A watched cauldron never bubbles and all that rubbish." He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply yet again. He was starting to feel the exhaustion setting in. Maybe he should go inside.

"How are you…?" Josephine asked tentatively. Dorian suppressed a groan. He had a sneaking suspicion that word of that… event… had spread. Even if it was only known among a select few, he was certain that the wily Josephine would know.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Dorian said, trying his best to sound haughty. Josephine wasn't the type of lady to roll her eyes, but Dorian knew she was thinking about it.

"I heard about what happened. I just… I wanted to know if you were okay."

It had been a month and a half since the events at Halamshiral. Dorian had mentioned to nobody that the Inquisitor had kissed him at the Winter Palace. Dorian sighed heavily again. He hadn't quite decided how to feel. Being left behind in Skyhold wasn't sitting particularly well with him.

"It is of no concern, Lady Montilyet. His tone was so upbeat and non-chalant he almost convinced himself. Josephine didn't believe him one bit, but she had the grace to leave it be. She smiled sadly at him and patted him on the shoulder before leaving him be. Dorian looked once more at the setting sun. There was no movement on the horizon.

There was a distant scream in the night. Dorian sat up immediately, his heart racing. He must have been hearing things. There were always strange noises in this drafty castle. That was all it had been. A wooden beam settling. Dorian calmed when he didn't hear it again. He settled back down and pulled the blankets up close around his chin and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and softness of the material. Everything was fine.

But then he heard it again.

A strong pair of lungs bellowing out in agony. He was gripped with terrible fear. His mind instantly jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Had Fay returned? He tore himself from bed and threw a cloak around himself, grabbing his staff on the way out the door.

Dorian sprinted through the halls of the castle, his bare feet smacking loudly against the cold stone floor. He hated exercise as much as the next person, but he had to know. He hit the entrance hall with thudding footsteps, and heard a roar of agony again.

"NAJA!" the male voice screamed. Dorian was already panting from the effort of running. But his breath caught here. That was Fay's voice. He knew it. He knew something bad had happened. He bolted down the steps to the yard where the infirmary tents were kept. Patients who had once slept soundly were now awake, murmuring to each other in a quiet hush. He saw torches flickering, casting monstrous shadows against the battlement walls, and a large group gathered around a body writhing on the ground. He skidded to a halt and an elf woman with short golden blonde hair glanced up at him. She had the same green eyes as Fay.

"Myrn! Sister! Where is Naja? Is she safe? Where is she?!" The blonde elf knelt next to Fay and smoothed back his hair. He was feverish, his eyes rolling wildly in his head. Delirious.

"Little wolf, be still. She is safe. Everyone got away. The clan is safe." She had that same rich accented voice, that same lilt to her tone. That same strength. The elf woman, Myrn, looked up at Dorian again. "Help me." she begged, quietly. Dorian swallowed back his horror and pushed a silent Varric out of the way. If Varric had nothing to say, the case could only be truly hopeless. Dorian knelt next to the large elf laying a hand on his forehead. Then he saw the cause of all this strife. A large, wickedly sharp shard of steel piercing his shoulder. Corruption sprawled outward from the wound. A smell of decay wafted up Dorian's nose. And something bitter. Some poison. A taint of the blood. Panic gripped Dorian's stomach. He set his staff down, and methodically examined the wound.

"I'm going to help you, Fay. I promise." He was going to lose him. He was going to die.

Dorian set about probing his magic into the wound, into his blood. Assessing, discovering, considering. This would need more work than he could give alone.

"Somebody summon Solas." he said quietly. They all stood in shock, staring at their Inquisitor, dying on the hard cobbled ground. He looked up for but a moment. "Get Solas!" he said, louder now. More urgent. Cassandra ran. She could run a lot faster than him.

Myrn knelt next to Dorian, a terrible calm in her bearing.

"He's been poisoned. Do you have an apothecary?" Dorian could feel the way Fay's body struggled against his magic. He couldn't fight against the current of death in him.

"You heard the woman." Dorian snapped. Another pair of boots hurried into the distance. Myrn was exhausted. Dorian could tell that much. She had magic. He knew that much. And she was probably to thank for keeping him alive this long. She was about to drop from exhaustion, but she took a breath, then placed her hands over her brother holding back the deluge of death in Fay's blood with Dorian.

"Dorian!" Fay mumbled, his voice frail now.

"I'm here. Don't you die on me! You son of a... Don't you die on me!" There were tears of panic in Dorian's eyes. Fay's green eyes suddenly locked on Dorian's, a look of coherency that had been absent until now.

"Help me! I must save them! My people are in danger!" The elf grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. Dorian paused for a moment. He couldn't think of a word to say. Nut he stared into the man's eyes until pain overtook him again, and he cried out in agony. Dorian redoubled his effort.


	11. Dorian

Dorian sat in the busy tavern with a bowl of cold stew in front of him. It was the least appetising thing he had ever seen. Dawn had broken long ago. Dorian had lost count of the hours. He was sure it was almost dusk now. It was business as usual in Skyhold. But the voices in the tavern were muted. The ribald jokes and songs were absent. They knew. They knew their Inquisitor was on death's door. Some rumours had spread that he had died. Dorian felt like he could sleep for a century. But his eyes refused to close. He knew this feeling well. There had been many times when he had exhausted himself with magic. It was a singular feeling. Too tired to sleep. He contemplated the stew again, watching fat congeal on the top of the sauce. There was no way he was going to eat this, it was disgusting. It had probably been delicious when it was warm, but he had never found out. He didn't look up when someone sat across from him. They were starting to get used to a Tevinter Imperium Altus being in their presence. But some people still had a harsh word to say. So he didn't look up. He didn't engage. He preferred when they left him to sit alone.

"You need to eat. And that looks bad." It was a female voice. Accented. Dalish. He looked up to see the blonde sister of Fay. Myrn. She had very light coloured hair, honey tones instead of the silver light of Fay's hair. But she had that pointed, delicate face, those emerald eyes. Myrn and Fay had the same Vallaslin, but the marks looked delicate on her face, whereas they were bold and structured on her younger brother's face.

"Surely you should eat too... And sleep. You've been working a lot longer than I have." Myrn gave him an exhausted smile. They sat in companionable silence for a time. Dorian's brain began working again, puzzling things out. "Myrn... What happened?" The tired smile disappeared, and her large eyes grew larger. She looked scared. Sad. Dorian almost reached out a hand in comfort. But he refrained. He was still a Vint, after all. And everyone in the world hated him.

"The clan Lavellan was on the Dales. We went to see another clan, our brothers and sisters. But... We were attacked." She hesitated. She didn't want to continue with her story, that was obvious. So she side-tracked. "Fay had come with his friends to see the other clan. He hadn't known we'd be there." She smiled now despite herself. "It had been months since we'd seen one another. It was a happy moment." Dorian stared at her for a long moment thinking over the questions he really wanted to ask. He thought he'd start with an easy one.

"Tell me... Who is Naja?" Myrn's face brightened with a smile.

"Little Naja moon. She is my daughter. My youngest daughter. Fay is very fond of her." The Dalish elf had something of a mischeivous smile about her. Now maybe he could ask the hard question.

"Who attacked you?" Dorian spoke in a gentle voice, trying to make this easier for her. Her face closed up instantly. She was guarded and cautious. She thought about what she was going to say.

"Shemlen set upon our camp." She avoided his gaze. This was suspicious to him.

"Which Shemlen?" he pressed. She clenched her fist and looked angry now. Maybe he had pushed too hard.

"All shemlen look the same." she snapped. They lapsed into a tense silence. He shouldn't have pushed. This was clearly a touchy subject. Her people had been attacked.

"I'm sorry." he intoned. Dorian wasn't often one to apologise. But she was Fay's sister. And he was fond of her. She was resilient and one of the strongest mages he had met. She had been healing her brother and giving him strength for days on their journey back to Skyhold, and she had continued to heal him after they had gotten there, for hours. Most of the day. Fighting to slow the poison while an antidote was concocted. Dorian would have collapsed the second day. She was truly an inspiration.

She smiled at him now, indicating that all was forgiven.

"Dorian Pavus… I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for my brother. I raised him, you know. Him and Dúl. My parents were busy leading the clan for years. I helped where I could, and gods preserve me, the two of them were a handful. But Fay… he's gentle. Precious to me." She paused for a moment, overcome with feelings of tenderness towards her brother. "I owe you… so much for saving him." Dorian felt incredibly uncomfortable now. Unsure of where to look, where to put his hands, what to say.

"He's my friend." he said, at long last. Myrn smiled at him. She didn't say anymore. She didn't have to. She understood that Dorian had to process. She was clearly an intuitive woman.

"You should give up on your stew and retire, I think." She laid a gently hand on his, gave it a pat then withdrew. She was gone like a whisper on the wind. Dorian thought perhaps she was right. He needed rest. And sleep would be the only thing that would do it. He abandoned his disgusting stew and escaped to the quiet of his private quarters.

Myrn sat out in the gardens with Dorian. They were both basking in the sun for a time, discussing different aspects of magic. Dorian had studied formally, of course, but Myrn had been the product of centuries of information passed from Keeper to First. Myrn was the First of Clan Lavellan. She would lead the clan one day in place of her father. Dorian was fascinated to learn her views and knowledge. In the past two days he had learned so much from her, and they had become friends.

"So mages rule your land? As leaders, or…?"

"Tyrants. Definitely tyrants. As if they could be relied upon to lead." Dorian stretched a little in the sun. The heat reminded him of home. Myrn seemed to be enjoying the heat as well. She had the same pointed teeth as Fay. And the way she stretched and moved and tilted her head, she too could be described as catlike.

"It is a shame." she said. "Mages should be guardians and protectors. Not rulers." Dorian didn't know if he had an opinion on

The subject just yet, but before he had much time to formulate one, they were interrupted.

Commander Cullen burst into the garden space where followers of Andraste knelt praying. It was safe to say that they were disturbed. Cullen ran right towards the two of them, a look of urgency on his face.

"He's awake!" They needed no further explanation. The pair of them jumped to their feet and began to sprint after Cullen, who led the way through the castle. Time seemed to stand still as they ran. They ran up winding stairs towards the Inquisitor's quarters where he was being healed. They had moved Fay after Dorian had retired. It occurred to him that he had never been in the Inquisitor's personal quarters. He would have to inspect how he felt about that at a later time. Myrn was strides ahead of him. She was an elf. She was predisposed to just be physically better than him. And she was tall like her brother. When they finally entered the room, and the bed was in site, Myrn fell on Fay. Dorian couldn't see a thing. He could hear Myrn sobbing soft Dalish words at her brother. And then he heard that gentle, deep voice. Weaker than he would have liked, but it still had that same effect on him. Dorian felt his stomach tie itself in knots. He hadn't truly spoken to Fay properly since that night on the balcony. Would he be furious to see him?

Myrn moved aside, sitting on the floor at the head of the bed. And Dorian could finally see him. His hair was a wild silver mess on the pillows, undone and a little tangled. His eyes were hooded with exhaustion and sickness. And he was looking at Dorian. He had a strange expression. Inquisitive, somewhat furious, but yet, tender.

"Dorian." He spoke his name like a prayer. Like a breath, a sigh, a softly spoken vow. Dorian felt as though his knees were going to buckle beneath him. Not just from relief that Fay was alive and well, but the way he spoke his name! Dorian hadn't even realised that he had been waiting his whole life to hear his name spoken with such a solemn tone.

"You're alive." Dorian eventually croaked. He cleared his throat to clear away the lump that had formed there.

"Thanks to you." Fay's voice was stronger now, like a monarch addressing his people. Dorian took a step closer. He wanted to throw himself on the floor before him, take his hand, beg him to forgive him for making a terrible mess of it all. But he didn't.

"Your sister is incredibly strong. Were it not for her, you'd be in the arms of the Maker." Fay smiled down at his big sister.

"Still mending my scraped knees after all this time, sister?" There was so much more Dorian wanted to say to him. When they were alone. But he wasn't going to have a chance any time soon. Myrn had launched into a full on tirade.

"You stupid imbecile! Always have to play the hero and throw yourself into all hazards! I raised you better than that! I raised you to be smarter!" She was on for the day, it would seem.

Fay had returned his gaze to Dorian once his sister had started berating him. There was a warmth in Fay's eyes. It wasn't a new warmth. It may have been stronger than ever before. Dorian had been fooling himself into seeing coldness this entire time. But Fay had always looked at Dorian this way. How had he never seen it before? He was an absolute fool! He wanted to run to him this second and profess everything he felt. But he simply smiled shyly at Fay, and withdrew. He had to give the family some time. His time would come. He would make sure of it this time.


	12. The Ballad of Crossing Road

No more had been said but the faint utterings at the bedside of the Inquisitor Lavellan. But Dorian felt something he couldn't recall feeling a long time. He felt hope. Hope that they could at least be friends. But then he was possessed by the memory of that stolen kiss. That brief moment in time when the Inquisitor, his Fay, had held him close in his arms and pressed his lips to him. He had longed for such a thing, for a greater length of time than he had realised. But since it had happened, he had been driven insane by it. He needed to feel that again. That tender kiss. That embrace of his strong arms. Dorian had lain awake in bed many a night, reliving the memory, tormented by it. This would be his undoing. Surely. His mind had never been so captured before. His very soul belonged to that moment. He wondered if his Blessed Fay realised that he held him in the palm of his hand. If he would only kiss him again… Dorian would never waste another chance.

It came to pass that Fay made a full recovery. He was back up on his feet again. The nefarious poison had long since been eliminated, and his wound had fully healed. For a man like Fay, there was no time to sit around and slowly regain his strength. The breach hung in the sky, a constant reminder to the threat to all of their lives. Their very existence. So Fay continued gathering resources and information, closing rifts, and helping the people. And he never spoke of the attack on his people. Dorian was very confused as to the shadowy nature of the event. Why were they being so secretive about this? Surely the Inquisition could help his people. But Fay continued on with his life as though nothing had happened. Myrn had disappeared into the night, without so much as a goodbye to Dorian. And he had thought they were friends! He supposed however, that goodbyes, perhaps, were not in her nature.

Life went on.

Dorian rode quietly through the shaded undergrowth of the Emerald Graves beside Fay, taking in the smells of the forest, and the sight of the strange animals that scurried about. Solas and Sera rode with them, both of them with very different expressions on their faces. Solas was melancholic. Sera was, well… Bored. This place was probably far too elfy for her.

"Andraste's arse, when are we going to kill some bloomin bad guys? Venawhatsits or Red Arse wipes. Anytrhing!" This was a very important place to the Dalish, almost sacred. Dorian would have completely understood if Fay had lost his patience with her. But he replied in the mild manner of his, with a tone of amusement in his voice.

"Sera… Just enjoy the scenery." Sera gave a frustrated groan. She was like a child, but Dorian liked her for her sassy nature. She kept things interesting. Solas had earlier stated how foolish the Dalish were to venerate this place, as though he had some knowledge of it that he was unwilling to share.

"Communicating with spirits is foolish." Fay had answered, in a very diplomatic tone.

"Inquisitor, you are aware that that is untrue."

"Forgive me Solas, I was under the impression that we were giving unwelcome opinions to one another. My apologies." Dorian was reeling from the level of admonishment so casually passed off in that repartee. Suffice to say, Solas had not spoke ill of the Dalish for a while now. But the silence was beginning to wear on them all. Dorian could feel it.

Fay rode ahead slightly, separating himself from the party. Perhaps the two anti-Dalish elves were not the best companions for this area. Dorian spurred his horse on to catch up with the elf. He needed to talk to someone, and both Solas and Sera were sulking. For two people who got along so terribly, they had an awful lot in common. There would be no talking to them. So he had to talk to Fay. Fay looked down when he heard the approaching horse, but he smiled when he saw Dorian.

"Have you come to complain too?" he asked, with a sarcastic tone. Dorian remained silent for a moment, enjoying the tranquility.

"Why do you think it is that they dislike all things Dalish?" Dorian hadn't even been expecting that question when he asked it. Fay regarded Dorian for a moment as he thought.

"As for Solas… I cannot account for that. I know next to nothing about the elf. He isn't an alienage elf. Nor was he ever in a circle. And he clearly isn't of the clans." He glanced back over his shoulder at Solas, who was sitting back in the saddle, staring up at the trees. Dorian was frankly surprised that he wasn't asleep in the saddle and running around his beloved Fade. Fay pulled his braid over his shoulder, and cast his eyes down.

"As for Sera, that I can answer. For too long, the Elvhen have cast aside our brothers and sisters who live among the Shemlen. We have been prejudiced and unkind. Our pride has been our downfall one time too many. The clans thought themselves better. And this is all Sera has ever seen or heard. This seriousness. The bitterness towards shems and alienage elves alike. She has seen only of our pride. So I do not blame her." Fay finally looked up again, and glanced very briefly over at Dorian. The mage was at a loss for words. Fay's answer had been well thought out. This was clearly something he had thought about. "I may be an elf of the clans, and she may be an elf of the alienage, but she is my friend." Dorian had seen them spending time together, laughing and generally being silly. He had once caught them setting up an elaborate prank that involved cheese wheels. He couldn't deny that they were friends. Apparently Fay wasn't too elfy for her.

"As for Solas, he saved my life once. He has helped me and given me counsel. I may not always agree with him, but I still value him as an ally. And a friend."

"it is important to have friends. One would go mad otherwise." Dorian mused, trying to lighten the mood. It seemed Fay was having none of it.

He was brooding, staring at the soft pelt of his mount. The big elf seemed to be tormented by something. Dorian was about to voice his concerns when Fay finally burst forth with it. With what Dorian had been too afraid to voice.

"You and I are as friends, are we not?" Fay sounded well and truly worried. Dorian was bewildered.

"Of course we are! Fay, yes! Of course we are! What could possibly make you think otherwise?" He finally looked over. Fay's green eyes were wide with worry.

"Because of what I did, Dorian! I thought… Surely we could never be friends again because of it! I ruined it." Dorian snapped his gaze away, turned his head gently away. His heart was suddenly racing. So they were going to talk about it. The kiss.

"Maker… Fay please. Don't do this. Please." Dorian couldn't bear to listen to him berate himself over something that he, Dorian, had spoiled. However, Fay's brow drew down, and his jaw clenched. A look of grim acceptance.

"Of course, Serah Pavus." And he spurred his mount forward. He had misunderstood. Dorian watched Fay's back for a moment in shock. No. He couldn't allow him to run away from him again without explaining himself. So he touched his heels to his horse's flanks, urging him after Fay. He can't imagine what a sight he must have been, tearing after the Inquisitor, shouting at him to come back.

Fay finally eased up, looking around with a face like a thundercloud on him. Dorian gulped audibly, then took a breath to steady himself.

"Please listen to me. I only meant that I didn't want you to put all the blame on yourself. I could have reacted better. We are friends. We have always been friends. And the only thing I regret about what happened was that I was unkind." He offered his hand towards the elf. "Please believe me, I could never turn against you for what happened. And I'm not ashamed of what you did…" He was about to say how he felt. That he wished he could live it over again, and kiss him properly, tell him he wanted him. But he couldn't. He couldn't bring his voice to speak those words. He was still afraid. Afraid that Fay didn't feel the same way that he couldn't after everything that happened. So he sat in silence, and allowed Fay to ponder his words. Birds filled the silence with the songs, and the trees rustled and danced gently in the refreshing breeze. Perhaps Dorian was imagining it, but with each passing minute, the thundercloud seemed to be evaporating from his face. Until there was a gentle smile on his lips. Something fluttered in Dorian's stomach at the sight of that smile. He had done that. He had made him smile. He felt an odd sense of gratification and pride at that.

Fay did not speak another word on the topic, but had an air of satisfaction and happiness about him that made the silence between them companionable. The others had fallen back a good bit and seemed to be bickering. Playfully on Sera's part at least, but Dorian got the impression that Solas was amused by it all the same. Fay had clearly noticed the distance too. He pulled up to a stop, and sat contemplating a particular area of the forest. He turned to Dorian as easily as though that difficult period of their friendship had never happened.

"There is a song among my people that tells the story of this place. This is Crossing Road." He let the pronouncement hang in the air, as though it should bear some weight, some great meaning. Dorian saw nothing but forest, great green trees that towered above, touching the broken sky. But here and there he saw stacked stone cairns, and waving bolts of cloth of the deepest red. A colour he had come to associate with Fay.

"Crossing Road?" Dorian asked in a small voice. Perhaps some great air of solemnity did hang on the air here after all. He felt he should be quiet as though in a solemn, holy place.

"Truly it is more of a ballad, telling the story of two Emerald Warriors. Alaron and Lemlaros. It was the time of the War of the Burning Trees." Dorian realised he was speaking of the Exalted March against the Dales. Dorian had never heard about that particular historical event from the other perspective. He was fascinated, and listening intently.

"Lemlaros and Alaron came from two different clans. Clans that often warred and were great enemies. Both men were raised to be great warriors among their people. Paragons of excellence. Created to be strong and deadly so that they could war against one another. It was a terrible purpose, and one that the clans are now ashamed of." Fay took a pause, and regarded two particular trees with great tenderness. Dorian recalled that many of these trees marked the graves of the Emerald Warriors. He felt humbled. He gazed up at the tall trees with a renewed sense of awe and respect. "But when the Shemlen marched on our people, and set our forests alight, and Arlathvhen was called. A great meeting of the clans. All wars were set down. Only one now mattered. The two warriors who were raised to slaughter one another now had to fight shoulder to shoulder." He paused again, this time with a small smile. Dorian thought he could listen to that warm toned voice all day. His voice was like the finest whiskey drowned in sunlight. Dorian felt light headed.

"It was safe to say that the two men did not see eye to eye at first. They were raised from infancy to despise the very ground the other walked on. But as the war progressed, and as they became increasingly hard-pressed, they became brothers-in-arms. They survived many battles together, and won many victories for our people. Soon, clan names fell away. They were just two men." Dorian knew there must be some reason why he was being told this story. "They fell in love." Dorian's breath caught. He could clearly see the image of two great elven warriors, in their green armour, swords in hand. In his mind, one of them even looked suspiciously very like Fay. And he could see it! He could feel their love. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt. But there was a great song in Dalish culture about two men who were in love with one another. He was certain that some of what he felt was hope.

"There was one last particularly brutal battle. Here at Crossing Road. A thousand Shemlen soldiers ranged against one hundred Emerald Warriors. Being so disgracefully outnumbered the Emerald Warriors were slaughtered to three elves. Alaron, Lemlaros, and Fioriel. The Shemlen were coming for them. They stood no chance of survival. The lovers made a decision. Fioriel was to return to the clans and warn them. She was to save the people, and Alaron and Lemlaros would sacrifice themselves. Fioriel did not want to leave them, but she knew that she must save the people from annihilation. She ran, swift as the winds through the trees, and removed the people. The Marchers did not find us. When the people returned to Crossing Road, the bodies of the lovers laid peacefully on the leaves, their hands entwined in one last loving touch." Dorian could feel tears welling in his eyes. Could he ever have a love as strong as that? Love between two men in Tevinter could not be a possibility. But he wasn't in Tevinter.

"Their story taught our people that from the greatest adversity, the greatest love can blossom. And that no divides are too wide to bridge. Enemies can find common ground." Fay tenderly at the two trees, which had their boughs intertwined like the hands of the lovers, for a moment longer. Before he turned his eyes on Dorian. That is why this Crossing is so important.

"Love conquers all." Dorian whispered through the lump in his throat. Normally he would scoff and say they had died in a battle, and there was nothing special about this story. But looking at Fay, he had no way to hide how much the story had effected him. Times were perilous. Could he truly afford to waste time not telling Fay how he felt? He would have to think on this.

Solas came riding into their midst, dispelling the atmosphere that had descended on them.

"Crossing Road. The ridiculous story of the Warrior Lovers." he scoffed. Fay's brow drew down, but it was Dorian who snapped.

"Have more respect for Fay's people and culture, for Andraste's sake!" Dorian tutted in irritation, wheeled his horse about and trotted forth, pausing a moment to look at the trees Fay had been regarding. These were their graves. Alaron and Lemlaros.

"I promise you." he whispered. "I promise I won't waste the time we have."


	13. Arlathvhen

The sun shone it's glorious rays unto the world, flooding Skyhold with light and warmth. The troops were heartened to see their Inquisitor up and about and fighting fit. Dorian observed as he trained with the troops, sparring opposite Cullen. Fay was all smiles and determination. He heard the sound of that rich laugh more than once. Dorian was sitting on a bench in the sun, reading ancient tomes that the Inquisitor had acquired for him. He remembered the first time Fay had returned to the castle out of the pouring rain, drenched to the skin. He marched straight up that turret stairs to where he knew Dorian was reading. He looked an absolute sight! Dripping and panting for breath, snuffling slightly. He held forth a waterproofed satchel.

"A gift for you, ma vhenan'ara." he had gasped out, still feeling the shock of finally being in out of the deluge. He had trudged away again once Dorian had the satchel. He had been bewildered, until he had extracted two very rare books from that satchel. He had gasped and clutched the books to his chest in shock. There were few things he loved more than books. He affectionately turned the page of one of these volumes now. But he couldn't help himself from glancing up from time to time to watch the Inquisitor move through complicated battle forms. Forms that were alien to Cullen. Forms he, apparently, had to perform half naked. His bare chest was exceedingly distracting. Not just to Dorian. Many a messenger, serving girl, sword master, and merchant had gathered to ogle both the Inquisitor Lavellan, and Commander Cullen, who had to match him blow for blow, garment for garment.

The sun reflected off the layer of sweat they were both covered in, giving them a ridiculously attractive sheen. Dorian could scarcely keep his eyes on the pages. How was a mage expected to read in the sun with this display going on? The mage smiled smugly to himself as Fay successfully landed a blow that sent Cullen off his feet. There was applause. Dorian couldn't take his eyes off the contours of Fay's musculature. The way his arms flexed when he helped to pull Cullen to his feet. Fay's head turned and his eyes met Dorian's, as though he were checking to see if he had been watching. Dorian dropped his eyes to the page immediately. But he could sense that smile on Fay's face, and maybe he had a small smile of his own. He felt that pleasant twist in his stomach. Dorian felt youthful and abashed. Both very pleasant feelings. It was as though there was some secret understanding between he and Fay. That all the people gathered to admire him where some joke to the two of them. In Dorian's mind, he and Fay were beginning to feel inevitable. He had never thought that would be something he would ever feel.

Cullen and Fay spent some time cooling off and resting after their bout. They laughed and told jokes, and Dorian could see that there was a genuine friendship between them. He was happy for them. He had been noticing that a lot lately. The way in which Fay interacted with other people. Most people liked him, admired him, respected him. He had some sort of friendship with most of his inner circle, and was a friend to every elf in the Inquisition. Never discriminating against any elf if they were from an Alienage. He made an effort with every single person he met, high and low. He had not let his power get to his head. Dorian had known many men in power all his life, and every single one had been corrupted. But Dorian remembered that Fay was no man. He was an elf. And perhaps power and respect suited elves. It was something to consider. Because as long as Dorian had lived, he had never seen an elf with power before. And he was fascinated by it. A noble Orlesian woman stood near Dorian, wearing the typical mask of her class, and fanning herself delicately.

"He is quite a specimen, is he not?" her muffled voice said. "He would be a very welcome addition to my household." Dorian snapped the book shut, bristling instantly.

"He is an excellent leader of this Inquisition. You are correct." Dorian said, in as mild a voice as he could manage.

"An elf, though. A Dalish elf at the head of this Holy Inquisition. Should he not know his place?" Dorian stood, tucking the book into his arm.

"Inquisitor Lavellan is right where he belongs." He stared down into the eyeholes of that smooth mask. She had no more to say. He stalked away from her with swift, smooth steps. He held his head high.

"Giving the nobles trouble as usual, Dorian?" He stopped and turned to face Cullen, still shirtless and sweating. This was to be a challenge in concentration. Eye contact must be maintained. For the good of the Inquisition.

"It's not my fault she's a crusty-" Cullen held up his hand, cutting him off.

"That's quite enough. What happened?" Cullen's voice was firm, but gentle.

"She insulted him. Aren't you supposed to be training, Commander? Not bothering mages? Old habits die hard?" Dorian was trying to be sarcastic, but Cullen was not amused. He just sighed. "What has she said now?" Dorian resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"So she does this often, does she? Whoever she is?"

"Madame de Villefort. Doesn't like elves. Think they should be slaves." Cullen said. Dorian felt a surge of rage bubbling up inside him.

"She'd love my mother." How could anyone look at Fay and see only a potential slave? How could they look upon his strength and majesty, and want to dominate him? He looked over to the elf, who was talking with the soldiers who were taking a break from their drills.

Before Dorian could continue to complain about the noblewoman from Orlais, Cullen was following someone with his eyes. This person cut through the crowd and caused silence to descend. A tall, yet slight male elf was walking towards the Inquisitor. He had long raven hair that shone with every glint of the sun. He had eagle feathers in his hair and red beads around his neck. He wore the hides of some animal, and walked barefoot. Fay turned to face him, and his eyes grew big. The man with his face painted red stopped before Fay. Fay looked down at him, with round eyes. They both stood staring at one another for a time. Dorian had never seen Fay look so young, innocent. Scared.

"Aethwyn." he said, in a small voice.

"Fayalon." the elf replied. They each hit their fists to their chests and bowed their heads.

"Brother…" Fay said in a pained, confused voice. There was still silence dispersed among the scattered crowd. Dorian stared on, like the rest of them, wondering what was happening.

"You have been summoned to the Arlathvhen." his brother said, in a stern, no-nonsense voice.

"Arlathvhen? We are not due for another five years, brother. It cannot be." The gathered crowd seemed to be holding their breath, though none of them understood. They could feel the tension of this conversation.

"There is to be a choosing."

Fay paled at the word, and staggered back a step.

"Why am I being summoned?" he asked, his voice tremulous. He ran a hand along his braid, pulling it over his shoulder.

"You know why. You are to come at once. And to be prepared." Dorian didn't know if he was imagining it or not, but he thought he sensed a coldness in Aethwyn's voice. A hostility. Dorian had never seen Fay look like a guilty child. Not in his life.

"May I bring friends?" He was asking for permission? The Inquisitor? What was going on.

"You may bring who you like." Fay and his brother stood staring at each other for a time. The Inquisitor looked… scared. Dorian wanted to run to him, to hold him. But he refrained. He had an appearance to keep up. He couldn't make the Inquisitor appear weak. Then the moment was broken, and the black-haired elf turned with a swish of his long mane, and marched away from Fay, who he left speechless and scared looking. Fay watched his brother leave, and then was snapped back to reality, and the crowd of people who had gathered to watch him. His eyes roved over them all, until he finally settled on Dorian, whom he made a beeline towards.

Cullen and Dorian walked with Fay, clearing a path through the crowd, and managing to get him up the steps into the castle, and through the door into Josephine's office. She was startled to see them, and was, of course, concerned for the Inquisitor's wellbeing. Lovely Josephine, Dorian thought. Always genuinely concerned for them. They bundled the massive elf into a soft armchair, and called for some water. He gulped it down haphazardly when it came, spilling half the glass on himself. When he caught his breath, he looked at them all, with fear in his eyes.

"That was my older brother." he gasped. "There is to be a choosing. And I'm to be there." This was clearly a big deal, but Dorian didn't understand what it meant! And by the looks of things, neither did anyone else.

"What does that mean, Fay?" Dorian asked gently. His wild eyes snapped onto Dorian's. He opened his mouth to speak, then clapped a hand over it as though he were going to be sick.

"I can't tell you!" he gasped out. And there were tears in his eyes. He was terrified. Dorian was gripped by fear. What could terrify the Inquisitor so? What grim fate awaited him at this choosing. He truly wished he would never find out. But he knew that dream was far-fetched. He knew this choosing was going to change things forever. Somehow.


	14. I Will Call You Home

Dorian was unsure what he was doing here. With them. Surely he didn't belong. He sat around their small camp fire staring at his companions, and he was dumbstruck. An Arlathvhen, as it turned out, was a gathering of all the clans that happened every ten years. And this one was early. Dorian, Solas, and Cassandra sat around the fire watching Fay and his brother Aethwyn prepare. They were only an hour's ride away from the Arlathvhen which was deep in the Brecillian Forest. And they could hear the drums from here, the faint sounds of chanting voices in the distance. The sun was beginning it's journey down beyond the horizon. They would enter the Arlathvhen at nightfall. Dorian was certain he didn't belong here. He wasn't an elf. But Fay insisted that they would be welcomed. Aethwyn, on the other hand, did not speak a word to them. He ignored all of them, save Solas, as a matter of spite. And even then, he thought it awful that Solas was barefaced. An elf of his age should be ashamed. Fay chastised his brother for speaking so rudely to his friend. But it seemed Aethwyn did not care. Dorian didn't have to be the brilliantly intelligent mage to see that the brothers did not get along. It would only take a little while longer to pinpoint why exactly. But he was beginning to have his suspicions.

Fay was braiding his hair very slowly, making sure it was perfect. The brothers were bickering quietly with one another, but Dorian couldn't hear a word of it. Aethwyn was making him braid eagle feathers through it. And as Fay focused on his hair, Aethwyn was piercing his brother's skin with gold rings. Both of his pointed ears had several golden rings now. And when he had finished with his ears, Aethwyn punched a hole through the septum of Fay's nose, looping a thing ring through it. Fay groaned with discomfort, but made no complaint.

"I don't like the look of this." Cassandra murmured. Dorian leaned over a little, but kept his eyes on Fay.

"Well he's certainly not preparing for a ball. I wonder what this is all in aid of." Dorian watched as Fay finally finished up braiding his hair, which was a long and arduous business. He dropped his arms and heaved a heavy sigh.

"I hate this." he mumbled to himself.

"Why do you keep your hair so long if you hate it?" asked Cassandra. Fay smirked, and turned to answer her. But Aethwyn who had just mixed red paint, turned his face back with a firm grip.

"it is forbidden." Aethwyn said, tersely. Cassandra was about to start a fight with Aethwyn. It seemed Dorian was not the only one who was just about finished with him. But Fay spoke.

"I must have long hair. I am… I have silver hair. I can shave the sides of my head, but I must keep this braid. I may never cut it."

Aethwyn regained all of his brother's attention, by slathering the thick, dark red paint on his face, covering his eyes in a thick strip, and branching out in simple patterns.

"The Dalish are… very different than what I… imagined." Solas said, haltingly. There was deep confusion in his voice. "From everything I know of the history of the Elvhen, there was never this tribal culture." Dorian would admit that he knew next to nothing about Dalish culture. But they were something of a secret people. They kept to themselves. Part of Dorian relished the opportunity to learn about these people. It was the details, again, that fascinated Dorian. Aethwyn had no gold rings embedded in his skin. He had less feathers that Fay, and his face paint was less intimidating. From all the anthropological studies that Dorian had read, this behaviour would suggest that Fay was more important in their society than Aethwyn. Maybe the conflict between them truly was jealousy. He stood after a time and moved away from his brother. He looked resplendent. Fay was dressed in painted skins with intricate beading. He had his wolf furs thrown around his neck to protect him from the cold. He looked… Majestic.

"Faolan." his brother said, calling him back. Dorian could hear Fay groaning. He returned to his slightly smaller brother. "One last thing." He produced a thick golden collar with detailed relief designs. It looked… ancient. There were Hala leaping and grazing etched onto the fine piece of jewellery. He placed it around Fay's neck, then took a step back.

"You certainly look the part." There was begrudging admiration in his tone. What Fay looked was… intimidating. Especially as his face had a very serious expression on it.

He turned to face his friends, and a sudden smile broke out across his face, his pointed teeth showing.

"Come now… Am I truly so frightening?" Cassandra made a sound of disgust and rolled her eyes, but she had a small smirk. Solas looked completely nonplussed. And Dorian… Dorian's heart was racing at this formidable sight. None of them had anything to say to him. The smile disappeared on his face. His golden eyes, luminous as they peered out from the thick red paint were wide, and scared. "I'm glad you are here with me, friends." Dorian rose, walked to Fay, and rested his hand up on his shoulder.

"We wouldn't dream of being anywhere else." He was trying for friendly, and thought that he had succeeded. Fay placed his hand over Dorian's, and stared into his eyes.

"Thank you." Dorian hardly recognised him, but he was still the same man. His appearance didn't change who he was. Dorian told himself that repeatedly. Nothing had changed. And nothing was going to change. Nothing.

The flames cast great flickering shapes against the backdrop of the dark forest. Voices and drums filled the air. Wavering voices that sent a shiver down Dorian's spine. They were yearning, powerful, haunting. The voices of something that felt lost. The voice of a nation crying out. The chanting was all consuming, the drums vibrated his bones. The Aravels were beautiful, and numerous. All of the clans, great and small were here. Dorian hadn't realised there were this many Dalish elves. And every clan of elf looked quite different. They had different coloured face paint. Different types of clothes, and hairstyles, different feathers and furs, different skin colours. There were so many cultures, yet all of them were the same people. None of them looked anything close to the way Fay, looked however, and all eyes were drawn to him for a moment, before regarding the bare-faced elven man, and the two humans. But they all returned their eyes to Fay. Why was he dressed so much more differently than the rest of them? Dorian felt a ball of nerves tightening in his stomach. There was some momentous occasion around the corner, Dorian could feel it.

"Where is the clan?" Fay asked quietly. He was sitting taller on his mount, moving through the crowded clearing. He did not look at the people staring at him, but it was clear that he could feel the weight of their eyes upon him. He looked simultaneously at ease, and in great discomfort. Dorian supposed he was happy to be back among his own people. Every sight and sound was very foreign to him, however. It was as though he had stepped into another world. There was a great central fire in the distance where the chanting and drums were coming from. He could smell food cooking somewhere and his stomach growled. Many of the elves spoke broken Dalish around him. He had no idea what was being said. But he heard the word Shemlen an awful lot. They did not belong here, he knew that much. But they had not been outwardly hostile towards them yet.

Aethwyn guided them through the crowd to a particular cluster of Aravels. This was a large clan of elves. Definitely one of the larger. They were all of them of darker skin, just as Fay was. And all of them spoke Dalish amongst themselves. They had red facepaint and eagle feathers in their hair. And they all stopped to stare at the group entering their cluster. A man with long black hair braided down his back stood before them. He held a staff in his hand. This could only the Keeper. They came to a stop before him, and he stared at them for a time. Then he threw back his head and let forth a long ululating cry that the rest of the clan took up. And Fay smiled. He swung down from his hart and ran to the man, throwing his arms around him. The man hugged him tightly, and laughed. His laugh was warm and deep, just as Fay's was, but it was somehow more frail.

"MY SON HAS RETURNED!" the man shouted, and the clan cried out again, ululating their joy. Myrn emerged from the crowd, and hugged him, a genuine smile on her face. Then a tiny girl barrelled out of the crowd straight into Fay's leg.

"DA!" she shouted. He scooped her up, pure joy. She was a little girl with big golden eyes, and long silver hair. Not blonde like her mother's. Pure silver. The little girl had her arms around her uncle's neck, and he held her close, his eyes closed.

"Aneth ara emm'asha." Fay said, swinging the little girl around in his embrace, causing her to squeal with laughter. "Has little Naja been a good girl while I've been away?" he asked her, but glancing up at Myrn. Naja grinned gaptoothedly at him, and then stuck her fingers in her mouth, like and child. Myrn smoothed the hair on the small child's head.

"She's been very well behaved."

"Clan Lavellan." Fay said, and he was greeted with smiling faces. "These are friends of mine from the Inquisition. This is Solas, a mage. This is Cassandra Penteghast, a Seeker of Truth. And this is Dorian Pavus, a mage, and friend who has saved my life many times." Elves crowded around them, shaking hands, and embracing, and generally being kind. "My friends, this is my clan. Clan Lavellan." Dorian had never received such kindness from such a large group of people. Having met Aethwyn, he had no idea what to expect. But this certainly wasn't what he had been expecting.

"Father, where is Dúl?" Fay's father rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Hunting of course." Fay nodded.

"Is there a space for my friends to spend the night while the ceremonies take place?" So they weren't invited to the ceremonies? That made sense.

"Of course. There is always room for our friends. We will see you tended to. And welcome to the Arlathvhen." Fay's father bowed his head to them all. Dorian felt it only appropriate to bow his head back.

"Thank you for your hospitality. It is very kind of you to receive us." Dorian may have been raised in Tevinter, but manners were applicable everywhere. Fay's father smiled.

"Now that you have arrived son, we can begin proceedings. You were the last one that we were waiting for." All joy and warmth left Fay. Fear and nerves replaced it all. "Be calm, my son. Whatever is meant to happen shall happen. And if this is meant for our people, what more can be done?" Fay took a fortifying breath. He looked at Dorian, and gently took his hand.

"I'll find you in the morning. Then I can tell you all about it. If you would like that." Dorian's breath caught at this private moment. He squeezed the Inquisitor's hand.

"I'll be here. I'd love to hear about it." Fay smiled, bit his lip, then put a hand on Dorian's shoulder for a moment, before gently moving it to the back of his neck.

"Then I will find you." There was something about Fay's tone that gave Dorian goosebumps. He walked away, into the crowd of his clan. They were all generally taller than most elves, but Fay was still a giant among them. Myrn came to stand beside him, with an easy smile.

"He likes you." she said. Dorian didn't reply, but Myrn wasn't expecting him to. "Come with me." she said, and she guided them to a comfy area with a couple of tents for privacy. "I knew he would bring you." Myrn had her face painted red, and her hair was tightly braided to her head, forming a sort of crown. "I apologise in advance for all the noise that will keep you awake." She smiled and with that, she left to join her people, who were beating drums, and singing, as they danced their way from their camp to the main fire.

"Well. Here we are." Dorian said. Cassandra made a disgusted noise yet again, and stormed into a tent.


	15. Unexpected

**A/N: Shout out to Judy, who has been consistently reviewing. You rock Judy. Whoever you are. 3**

The chanting and drumming had continued into the early hours of the morning, broken only by shouting in Dalish. Little sleep was had by Cassandra. But Solas and Dorian knew how to magically block out the noise. Dorian could have helped Cassandra, but she was far too suspicious of him, and Dorian liked being a little bit mean sometimes. He liked to indulge. He had been surprised by how truly exhausted he was. But all the same, he lay away for some time wondering if Fay was thinking of him. Wondering what he was going through. What was it all about? The paint, the beads, the golden rings in his skin, the chanting, the drums? What was it all about? He fell into a deep sleep, and before he knew it, he was woken by the sound of many women singing. He blinked at the light that streamed through an opening in the tent he was in. Hadn't he just fallen asleep? He felt strange, but he was still too asleep to be quite sure what the cause was. He yawned, and pulled the warm furs up around himself, with a mind to get more sleep. But he heard gentle breaths. Breaths that were not his own. He was being watched. He sat up, prepared to release a ball of fire. But it was Fay, regarding him with a tilted head. The way he looked at him… It was different. And wasn't Fay's valaslin different, or was he being crazy? Something wasn't right.

"You're from Tevinter." he said. He had that same dulcet tone. Those same piercing golden eyes.

"You know I am." Dorian said, cautiously. Something was wrong here.

"That won't be well liked when the clan finds out." Fay said, in that cold tone. Distant This wasn't like him. Not at all. "But you're kind. I can see that. I saw that the second I laid eyes on you. Heart of gold. I see the attraction, I honestly do." Fay was examining him as though he were some kind of specimen.

"Fay I-"

"Fay?" The elf laughed, and that warm dulcet tone was there. He had that warm smile. "No, no darling. He didn't tell you, did he? Fay has a twin brother. I'm Dúl." Dorian gasped in a breath. He saw the details now. This elf didn't have silver hair. It was a very light colour, certainly, but it had tones of cold, rather than silver. And his valaslin WAS different.

"That was starting to get confusing…" Dorian sighed. Dúl laughed again, and there was a slightly different tone to his laugh, more youthful. If Dorian was being honest with himself, Dúl looked like trouble. Irresistable, handsome trouble.

"Fay is as much a trickster as I am, and I won't hear anyone say any different." Dúl stood and stretched like a cat. The similarities were so striking, but there was such a different personality shining through, that Dorian wondered how he could ever have mistaken them. Fay had something of a more serious personality about him, but Dúl… There was something gleeful and impish about him. Dorian imagined he and Sera would have gotten along famously. Perhaps that was why Fay was so well equipped to handle her. It was all starting to make sense now. There only seemed to be one truly elfy member of the Lavellan family. And what an unpleasant elf he was too.

"He was too polite to come in here and tell you to wake up. So I said I'd see how good your instincts were. It took you fifteen minutes!" Dúl tutted and shook his head. "Shemlen are more interesting than I thought, though. The one called Cassandra was a lot faster than you. She almost murdered me, and she knew I wasn't my brother. She pinned me to the ground the minute I came in." Dúl seemed to be very excited about Cassandra. "I thought female Shemlen were supposed to be weak, the way your males go on about them. But she is stronger than an elf!" He continued talking. Dorian got the impression that Dúl could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Dorian stood and stretched very stiffly, missing the grace of the elves by a mile. "I don't quite know what to make of Solas," Dúl continued. "He seems… very confused by us. Were we not what he was expecting?" Here he was silent. Dorian realised he was actually looking for an answer.

"None of us were expecting… this." Dorian said, as he threw his robes around himself. He noticed that Dúl was bare-chested, just as Fay often was at Skyhold. Dúl was scrutinising him closely, watching his every movement. Dorian smirked, maybe Dúl wasn't so bad.

"He's dying to talk to you, you know. He's waiting outside with Naja, trying to get her to sleep. You'll find him in the willow grove. You can't miss it." Dúl turned to leave, then he thought again, and turned back, offering his hand. Dorian went to take his hand, but the elf grabbed him by the forearm.

"Thank you for saving my brother." Dúl said, with a such a sincere tone, that he was exactly like Fay for a moment.

"Well someone ought to, I suppose." Dorian said, trying to play the moment off with some humour.

"I know you are a Vint. But you will always be welcome in our family, Dorian. Lethallan." And then he did depart. Dorian was left to wonder over his own feelings. He was deeply touched. He had never been accepted anywhere as anything. What was it about Fay and his family?

There was a light breeze whispering through the emerald trees of the Brecilian Woods. Elven children laughed, and played. The adults rubbed their eyes, and smiled tiredly at one another. But there was a general air of happiness in the Lavellan camp. It was a peaceful setting, Dorian thought. It was incredible to be here. To be welcome here. It was such an entirely different culture. And it was breathtaking. Cassandra sat in the shade of a tree, with a book open, absorbed in some story. If the rumours were to be believed, it was Varric's sub-standard romance. He headed towards the one person he knew. She didn't look exactly pleased to see him, but she looked at everyone that way.

"A fine night's sleep, wouldn't you agree?" he said, with a smile, leaning against the trunk of the tree. She made a sound of disgust, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Part of me is still curious to know why the Inquisitor was summoned here… And why he brought us." Both were very good queries, ones that Dorian had been pondering over for a while now.

"Perhaps he would be distraught without your sunny personality constantly at his side." The Seeker gave him a scornful look. "I was informed that you had a pleasant wakeup call." He was pushing all her buttons, and he wasn't even trying. This was too glorious.

"I had not been informed that the Inquisitor had a twin. But I imagine I would have strangled him regardless if I knew who he was." She rolled her eyes, but again, her heart wasn't in it.

"He seemed very impressed by you, despite the strangling." Dorian said, nonchalantly. "Thinks you're the strongest Shemlen." She hadn't a word to say, but she was gripping the edge of her book very tightly. This amused him to no end.

He walked further into the forest in the hopes of finding Fay, who was apparently waiting to see him. He heard him before he saw him. Singing very softly.

Elgara vallas, da'len

Melava somniar

Mala taren aravas

Ara ma'desen melar

Iras ma ghilas, da'len

Ara ma'nedan ashir

Dirthara lothlenan'as

Bal emma mala dir

Tel'enfenim, da'len

Irassal ma ghilas

Ma garas mir renan

Ara ma'athlan vhenas

Ara ma'athlan vhenas*

Dorian moved closer to the sound of his voice. He found the glade of willow trees next to a burbling stream. Fay sat with Naja draped in his lap. Myrn lay sleepily on the ground next to them. The little girl had fallen asleep to the sound of her uncle's voice, which seemingly had taken a long time. But now that she was out, it seemed she was not going to wake again. He lifted her gently and laid her down next to her mother.

"Your mage is here, brother." Myrn said sleepily. Fay looked up at Dorian, his eyes locking with him. "I will take the little one. Go with him." she said, as she pulled her daughter closer. Fay leaned down and kissed the little girl's hair, before rising with a swift motion, moving towards Dorian. He had cleaned his face, but the gold rings were still embedded in his skin. He looked tired, sad. Resigned. He moved through the tall grasses towards Dorian barely making a rustle.

Wordlessly, he motioned for the mage to follow him. They walked for some time in silence, and Dorian's apprehension grew with each step. Finally they stopped by a bend in the stream where the canopy of the trees broke to reveal the sunshine. Fay closed his eyes and basked in the sun for a moment. Dorian stood off a little, unsure of what he should do with his hands. Fay took a breath. Whatever he was about to say, it wasn't going to be easy.

"Naja… Is not my sister's daughter." he said. His voice was monotnous. Was he nervous?

"She… She isn't?" Dorian's voice cracked from not speaking.

"She isn't because… She is my daughter." Dorian inhaled a sharp breath. He was, for some reason expecting this. He had begun to suspect when they had arrived at the Lavellan camp. But he had had a suspicion since he had first heard the little girl's name cried out in panic.

"Where is her mother?" Dorian asked quietly. Fay looked incredibly pained at that question. But he answered, none the less.

"Dead. She died at the birth of our beautiful girl." He took a breath. "I loved her very dearly. But the Creators did not grant us a life together." Dorian had never had a great love. So he could only begin to imagine the agony of losing that. He put a hand on the elf's shoulder.  
"Fay I am so sorry. I never knew."

"I thought it best to keep the truth hidden. When I became the Inquisitor. I couldn't risk people hurting her because of me."

So he had a daughter. Dorian remembered the sight of them together. It changed absolutely nothing about how he felt about the Inquisitor. He was the same man. And of course he had a past, he had had loves, and he had lost. If anything, it made Dorian admire him more.

"Naja is lucky to have you." Dorian said, very softly.

"You-you don't mind then? That I'm…"

"A father? Of course I don't mind. It doesn't change the person I know. I'm just so terribly sorry that you lost Naja's mother. It must have been horrible." Fay smiled sadly at Dorian's words and nodded.

"It's not been easy raising our daughter without her, but I know she still watches over her. Over us." They stood silently gazing at the burbling stream for many minutes. Birds filled the silence with their song. But Dorian could think of nothing to say while he contemplated the pain that Fay had been through. There was a nervous energy around the elf now, that hadn't been there before. He wrung his hands in a very human gesture of despair.

"Dorian, I'm telling you all this for a reason." Dorian kept his silence, but his heart started to thunder without a reason.

"Ever since I've met you, I've felt this feeling. Like I can't breathe when I look at you! I get clumsy and unsure of myself, and that isn't me! I knew what it was, and I decided to risk it all, I decided that she would want me to be happy. So I kissed you! And it all went so wrong! But Dorian! I still feel the same way as I did then. I still see your eyes in the stars, hear your voice on the breeze. I swear to you, if your feelings are the same as they were that night in Halamshiral, then I shall be silent on this subject forever more. But am I wrong? To think that you have given me reason to hope? Please, speak, and end my agony!" Fay's voice was a plea, it was the vocal manifestation of his wrung hands. His voice was twisting in emotional torment. And Dorian could scarcely find the breath to speak. Fay maintained a respectful distance, but looked like he despised the space between them.

"Fay I… I feel… You see that night, I…" Dorian couldn't get the words out. "Oh blow this." he muttered. He reached up and grabbed Fay by the back of the neck, and kissed him passionately. He had to stretch up, almost to his tiptoes, but when Fay got over his shock, he wrapped his arms around him and held him close, finally kissing him back. Dorian sighed against his lips, and could feel Fay's body pressed against his. When they finally broke apart for a breath of air, Fay was gazing down with gentle eyes at Dorian, trying to catch his breath. Dorian, meanwhile, was very glad that Fay was holding him upright, for his legs had turned to water. Fay gently touched his fingers to Dorian's cheek.

"Dorian."

"Yes." he gasped. "Yes. I feel the exact same as I did that night. The same as you." Fay covered his mouth with his own yet again.

Sun sets, little one,

Time to dream

Your mind journeys,

But I will hold you here.

Where will you go, little one

Lost to me in sleep?

Seek truth in a forgotten land

Deep with in your heart.

Never fear, little one,

Wherever you shall go.

Follow my voice-

I will call you home.

I will call you home.


	16. If It Be Their Will

They locked onto one another again, struggling against each other's weight. Fey grunted with the effort holding aloft the other man's weight. Dorian gasped at the sight. It was a mind boggling to watch Fay wrestling his twin brother. To see two men who looked identical locked together in a battle. They wrestled each other in the middle of the Lavellan encampment, much to the amusement and enjoyment of the clan. They played jaunty, happy music on flutes and whistles. Fay suddenly lifted his twin brother and threw him bodily down on the ground. Dúl grunted in pain, but he laughed for a moment, before he caught his breath. The elf jumped back up to his feet and the brothers circled each other, grinning at one another, and trying not to laugh. Fay pounced on his brother and wrestled him down to the ground.

Dorian was certain his jaw was on the floor. But he noticed he wasn't the only person watching them intently. Cassandra watched the brothers' every move, a slight flush on her face. Dorian could scarcely tear his eyes away from the twins, and the way the sweat glistened on their bare chests. They were both broad set men, the stuff of his dreams. To see them flex and strain against each other was too much. It made Dorian feel uncomfortable. He stood and walked over to where Myrn sat with Naja, playing with her.

"I haven't had the chance to say how good it is to see you again, Dorian." Myrn said without looking up. Dorian sat next to her, and Naja immediately hid behind the woman. Myrn looked up at him with a smile on her face.

"She's a bit shy around Shemlen." she said with a chuckle. "Naja come out and say hello to Dorian." Dorian had never had the opportunity to be around young children, and he had no idea how to act around them. How should he speak to a child? What could he possibly talk about with someone so young?

"What's on your face?" the little girl asked from behind her aunt's arm. "That thing under your nose! Is it alive?" Naja's voice was tremulous and high-pitched, and Dorian almost laughed. When he spoke to her, he couldn't keep the laughter from his voice.

"This is my moustache." the mage said, as he twirled an end of it around a finger.

"A… A what? Mustack?" The little girl was beginning to emerge from behind her aunt, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"It's just hair, little one. Here. You can touch it if you like." He wondered if this was the right way to go about this. It was very important to him that Fay's daughter was comfortable being around him. That they got along. Naja looked up at Myrn, as if for permission.

"Shemlen can grow hair on their faces, da'len. It isn't that strange to them." The little girl took a step forward, then reached out a small hand to Dorian's face. She brushed her fingers against his face, then jumped back. He smiled at her, before he turned to speak to Myrn.

"It's good to see you again too, Myrn. You have been missed. Mostly by your brother of course, but I suppose I thought of you from time to time too." The elf had a knowing look for him. A look of amusement.

"Do they often fight like this?" Dorian asked, after a while, watching Naja chase after a butterfly. Myrn harrumphed.

"They enjoy playing like children. Showing off to anyone who will watch. I never pay them much heed." She glanced over at her brothers, but couldn't but laugh at them. They were tangled up together, and Fay had Dúl in a headlock. "To look at them, one would forget that Fay is the youngest." Dorian inspected them, and observed that Fay looked bigger and slightly taller than Dúl. Dorian's observations were interrupted by the arrival of a mounted elf with long silver hair. Silence fell on the camp immediately, and the twins untangled from one another. Dúl stepped back to stand with the rest of the clan, and Fay greeted the silver haired elf alone.

"Faolan Lavellan of Clan Lavellan! I challenge you. I challenge your strength!" the other elf thundered from atop his mount. Fay dipped his head.

"I accept your challenge Eronal. May it be before the eyes of stars and ears of the gods." Eronal, atop his mount, dipped his head before riding away. The gaiety and music that had filled the camp was now absent without trace. Myrn looked concerned. She left Naja in the care of Dorian, and went to her brother. Their father was already there, his hand on his son's shoulder. Fay suddenly looked pale, and stressed.

"it is begun then." Dorian heard Fay say. The mage still had absolutely no idea why he was here, or what was going on. But he needed to know now. This was clearly serious. Somebody had just come and challenged Fay, the Inquisitor. Dorian would get to the bottom of this.

"Why did the man come and talk like that to da?" Naja asked, clinging to Dorian's arm and staring up at him with big eyes.

"I have no idea, little one." Dorian said, staring over at Fay, whose eyes had finally found his. The elf looked young, and scared. He would have the truth out of him, one way or another.

"These are troubling times…" an older woman said beside Dorian. "But I wouldn't trust anyone but Faolan to see us through." Dorian looked from the woman back to the scared face of the man he wanted more than life itself. Some fateful event hung on the horizon.

"I suppose you probably want to know what this is all about." They were alone in the dusk by a small basin in the river that was further down from that trickling river. Birds twittered all around them, and the cotton from the various river plants blew in the wind, giving everything an ethereal feeling. The setting sun gave an orange cast to everything. Dorian couldn't tears his eyes from the elf.

"Oh I don't know… An explanation from you? That would be completely out of character." Dorian said, in a sarcastic, yet slightly snarky tone. Fay only flinched a little.

"I know, I know. I'm awful." Fay's fingers traced patterns on the back of Dorian's hand. The Mage had to use all of his willpower not to sigh and melt into his arms.

"What's going on, Fay?" The elf took a deep shaky breath.

"The clans have come together to choose someone, because they believe the end of the world is coming. They want the clans to be one, and to fight together. And men with silver hair are sacred and close to the gods. And only a man with silver hair can be the one, which is really unfair to all the silver haired women in the clans if you think about it." Fay was beginning to babble on about how inherently sexist this choosing was, all because of some stupid prophecy. Dorian literally had to put his hand over the elf's mouth to stop him babbling.

"Thanks." he muttered, with wild and nervous eyes.

"Who are they picking for what?" Dorian asked. But he felt he already knew.

"The clans are in the process of choosing a King."

A king.

Dorian felt as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

"So you are to be King?" Dorian said, in a breathless whisper.

"If I pass the trials, yes." Fay sounded calmer now that he had said it. Dorian knew Fay, and he knew there was no way he was going to fail at any trial or challenge. He never had thus far.

"What are the trials? And who judges you?" he asked, trying to bring his mind down from their spiraling thoughts of panic and anxiety. Getting to the bottom of things calmed him.

"The Creators judge us. And the elders. Based on a series of tasks. All the champions have to challenge each other. I'm the first to be challenged." There was a tremor in his voice, and his hands shook slightly, but his piercing gaze was steady on the distance. "We have to fight each other. Bare knuckle. It's a show of strength." He shook his head. Dorian took his hand up in his, making Fay look up at him.

"I'll stand behind you. You have my support no matter what happens." He could see Fay didn't want to be King, but it was not his place to question why he was going through with this. All he could do was show his support.

"Dorian…" The elf put a calloused hand on the side of his face. "What would I do without you?" His eyes were hooded as he leaned in to kiss him. Dorian still couldn't believe that this was happening. That Fay wanted to kiss him, that he would allow it. He melted into his kiss, sighing against the elf's lips.

"Oh I think you'd be quite okay without me. Handsome elf like you. Could have your pick." Fay growled playfully, and pushed Dorian back into the thick swath of dune grass, straddling him and taking both his hands in his own. Dorian gasped, and felt his stomach fluttering. His blood stirred.

"I did have my pick Dorian Pavus." Fay purred, as he leaned down to kiss him again, his braid swinging down to brush against Dorian's chest. Fay was kissing Dorian like he had never kissed him before. His mouth was hot and needful. And Dorian felt the same way. Dorian rested his hands on Fay's bare chest. He had wanted to touch his chest since he had first laid eyes on him. He had never seen this side to Fay, but he certainly liked it. There was something hungry about his kisses.

Dorian melted completely into each kiss, every touch, every sound.

"Dorian." Fay whispered. Dorian groaned at the sound of his name on Fay's lips. His hands reached up to the back of Fay's neck to pull him down into an urgent kiss.

The sun set upon the pair of them in the dune grass as all inhibitions and doubts were discarded. They took this evening for themselves. Thoughts of Kingships and Inquisitions and Imperiums were forgotten for this one brief slice of time as they twisted around each other, breathing life and fulfilment into each other. Dorian lay back staring up at the sky as the stars began to make an appearance. He gasped for breath as the night air cooled his naked flesh. Fay lay beside him on their patch of grass pulling in deep breaths. They stared up at the emerging stars together. Fay's hand found it's way into Dorian's. There was silence between them, but it was a comfortable silence. Dorian's mind was still reeling. How had all of this come about? How had his dreams and desires come to be reality?

"Fay…" he whispered into the night air.

"Yes Dorian." his voice rumbled.

"Stay with me a little longer." He knew that he should return to his people soon. But he didn't want this to end. He didn't want there to be no more between them. That this would have been something unspoken of, and forgotten. But Fay took it to mean the immediate future, of staying just a few more minutes. Dorian was certain that theirs was a doomed affair. That nothing could be allowed to come of it.

He gathered Dorian in his arms, holding him close, and began to point out the stars to him, while planting soft kisses on his rounded ears.

"I'm not going anywhere, ma vhenan. I'm never leaving."


	17. Traitor

The blood that dripped from Fay's nose blended with the red paint on his face and his chest. He panted and tried to catch his breath through his broken nose. His muscles ached, and his eyes stung with sweat. Heavy drum beats and smoke filled the clearing. The ground beneath his hands and feet was dry and dusty. Every small sensation was of paramount importance. The other silver haired elf stared across at him, trying to catch his breath. His eye was swollen and he had an angry look. This wasn't an act of aggression, or at least it wasn't supposed to be. He had challenged Fay, trying to show him to be weak, and unworthy of leading the Elvhen. He had no idea why this elf would be so furious with him.

The other elf launched himself at Fay. Fay bared his teeth and hissed before their bodies clashed. The other elf was trying to use momentum and his weight to throw him off balance, but Fay dug his heels in, and threw the charging elf aside with a grunt. He followed him down, and caught both of the elf's arms behind his back, incapacitating him. He wriggled, and struggled, shouting profanities. The shaman stood, and held a hand up. The cheering, and shouting, and encouragement ceased. The old woman approached Fay and his challenger.

"It is done. Faolan Lavellan has triumphed." There was a fair amount of cheering, applause, luluing. The people liked him. They approved of him. He released the arms of the other elf and stood. He bowed from the waist to the man.

"You fought bravely. I am honoured by you." Fay dusted himself off, and pulled his braid over his shoulder. He smiled over at his father, feeling relief. He looked young, and boyish in his relief and joy, if even for but a moment. He wasn't completely terrified for the first time in a long time. But the feeling couldn't last.

The beaten elf stood, and snarled at Fay, "TRAITOR!" The joy that had been present but a moment ago in this hallowed grove had evaporated. A tremulous silence fell in its place, broken only by a murmur of whispers, and hisses.

"By what right do lay such a word at me?!" Fay bellowed, his voice strong and booming with outrage.

"This one has lain with our enemy! With a Tevinter!" The murmur of whispering grew louder and more persistent. Fay's blood turned to ice. "And was it not Tevinter scum who did so slay kinsmen of his own clan?!" The ebb of whispers grew to shouting and outrage, as the defeated elf spat a glob of blood and a tooth onto the ground. "He brought one into our sacred place and paraded him around, as though he were proud of the shemlen!" The other elf was pointing angrily at Fay now, who said not a word. "He has defiled our sacred trees by lying with this man on the banks of our pure streams!" There was a deal more hissing now. "How could you, the Elvhen, choose this traitor to be your King?! It cannot be brought to bear! It must not happen! Cast him out. Cut his hair. Remove his valaslin." The elf leveled this last suggestion directly at Fay, as he glared into his eyes. Fay's heart was racing. He knew it had been risky to bring Dorian here, but this was exactly why.

Chaos had broken out amongst the gathered elves. They were shouting, arguing with one another, hissing, and above all, his family were staring at him. They were staring at him in silence. His father looked confused, and concerned. He looked hurt. That was a dagger into Fay's heart.

"Brothers! Sisters! Please!" He thanked the Creators that he had such a deep voice, a voice that carried and boomed. He held out his hands to them. They quietened. "Am I not permitted to speak for myself now, Athelan? Am I not allowed to defend myself against this heinous accusation?" Fay wiped a trickle of blood from his broken nose.

"Dorian, whom Athelan here is referring to as a Tevinter, is a close friend of mine, who has saved my life, and this realm more times than I can count!" His voice was heated now, but he controlled himself. He was sick unto death of people speaking ill of Dorian, both here, and in the Inquisition.

"Are we, the Elvhen, to judge an entire people now on the actions of one group? Are we condemn Dorian, and through him, me, for what strangers have done? I thought we, as a people, had learned better than that." He walked around the circle of elves gathered, meeting the eyes of those who dared to gaze back.

"How long have our people been oppressed, subjugated to unspeakable horrors, slaughtered, stripped of our language and religion, treated with brutality and enslaved due to ignorance and hate? Have we learned no compassion? No understanding? No comprehension that judging an entire people based on but a few ignorant heretics is a dangerous state of mind?" He took a breath. This accusation, this blind hatred towards him and Dorian stung. It stung like nothing else had ever stung. He glared at Athelan, who still spat globs of blood.

"Since when has it been a crime, a sin, to love? Do not the creators teach love? If we have regressed to a time when loving a Shemlen is shameful, then cut my hair, cast me out. I would not want to be part of so judgmental a race." He fell silent now, bowed to his people, and went to sit by his father, who immediately set about healing, and setting to rights his broken nose.

"I am proud of you, son." he whispered. And the dread that had formed in Fay's heart lifted.

"Thank you, father." he whispered back.

"I KNEW IT!" Dúl whispered, as he clutched his twin's shoulders. "I knew you were having sex with him!" Fay groaned and massaged his temples.

"Shut up, idiot." But he gave him an affectionate nudge.

The council of elders were consulting with one another, the eldest of each clan representing them all. The wisest of them. Finally the shaman stepped forward into the circle where Athelan still stood.

"Lavellan speaks well. He is wise beyond his years. He is no traitor. He has proven himself strong and intelligent in this show of strength. Athelan did charge about like a raging bull. Faolan stood fast like the powerful mountain diverting the flow of the river. He uses his mind in all things." The old woman clenched her jaw for a moment and stared around at the people gathered, her eyes instantly finding Fay. He was a powerful presence. And if the shaman had her way, he would be king.

"Athelan has been shameful in this gathering. He has levelled accusations, and behaved like a petulant child. It is the council's ruling that he would be unfit to be King of our people. He lacks the strength and wisdom to guide our people through this difficult time." The crowd erupted in cheers and hisses, joy and outrage. But it seemed for the most part that Fay had a great deal of approval. This both pleased and terrified the elf. He was completely unaware of his regal bearing and calm presence, his wisdom. There was a reason he had come to be the leader of the Inquisition, and it was far beyond the mark on his hand. His own people saw these same qualities in him. And many were beginning to see that he would be the right choice.

It was a good few hours later that Fay found himself being fussed over by Dorian at that same spot on the stream they had been but a few nights before. The lights in the sky shone a beautiful emerald in their shimmering waves. The stars glittered down on them, and Fay was drinking in the sight of Dorian bathed in moonlight.

"Of course!" the mage cried. "The best way to pick a king is to have all potential candidates bludgeon each other to death. A perfect political process." The mage was fussing over Fay's still somewhat broken nose. His father refused to heal it any further, and had put it back into place by hand. His thinking was that we must all learn from our wounds by bearing the pain of them. Fay tended to agree with him, but it seemed that Dorian did not.

"Well it's a sight better than your political processes." Fay shot back. Dorian stopped for a moment , and glared at him, but there was curl to his lips that hinted at an impending smile.

"You're very clever aren't you? Surprised you can string two words together at the rate you're going." Dorian sat back in the grass, and stared at Fay shaking his head. It was clear he was worried about him.

Fay knew that he couldn't keep this from Dorian any longer. But he didn't want to broach the subject. This moment in time. This moment beneath the stars where the moon cast soft highlights on Dorian's high cheekbones and glinted in his dark, silky hair. This was a moment he wanted to keep for the hard times to come. For the battles he had to fight. This was the moment he wanted to consider as he lay dying on the battlefield, as he was sure he would in a matter of time. He couldn't ruin it, yet his sense of honour left him no choice. He reached out and touched Dorian's cheek gently. The man looked confused by this soft touch, as though he had never experienced the likes of it before.

"Oh Dorian… You deserve to be worshipped." Fay whispered, on trembling lips. Dorian's breath caught, and his eyes hooded over.

"You shouldn't say these things. You're only feeding my ravenous ego." He tried to pass every emotion he had off as a joke; Fay knew this. But he also could see the flush of his cheeks, the glint in his dark eyes, the way his tongue flickered out to wet his lips. He knew Dorian, better than the mage suspected he did.

Fay knew he had to take the plunge now or never, for he was perilously close to giving up his honesty and languishing in this man's arms.

"Dorian, I need to speak to you about the attack on my clan many moons ago." He blurted the words out in a nervous babble. Dorian's flushed cheeks suddenly paled. His face grew serious.

"It was the Venatori, was it not?" Dorian said, in a grave tone.

"How did you-?"

"I'm not stupid, Fay." His voice was gentle. Fay took a moment to get over his incredulity.

"Then you have to know why I brought you here." Fay was beginning to feel sickened. Dorian's jaw clenched.

"So you didn't bring me with you because you wanted to profess your feelings for me. What a shock." He was getting angry and Fay was starting to panic.

"It wasn't like that, I-"

"You brought me here for politics. For your own advantage. You used me." This was going an awful lot worse than he had imagined. Fay tried to reach out to Dorian, but the mage swatted his hand away.

"Dorian, I care for you, you know I do."

"But?"

Dorian's voice was so cold and so sure, that Fay felt utterly ashamed that there was a but.

"But it was to my advantage to have you here. To prove that not all Tevinter are evil, murdering madmen. To me-"

"I've heard enough." Dorian stood to leave. He stared down coldly at Fay.

"Dorian please…"

"I said I've heard enough." His voice was a terribly cold calm, and it broke Fay's heart more than any impassioned shouting would have. Dorian turned his back on Fay, and began to pick his way back towards the camp. Fay stared out at the glittering stream. What had he done? He had ruined everything. He should have kept quiet. He shouldn't have spoken. Why had be been so determined to be honourable and honest? He had clearly hurt Dorian terribly. He was a fool. Maybe that should be the crown he should bear. King of the Fools.


	18. King of the Forest, Lord of the Sky

Sparks flew in flurries up into the night sky. Dorian had no idea why everything important to the Dalish had to take place at night. He hadn't bothered to ask. He was still terribly upset by what Fay had done. Using him as a political tool. As an example of how the Tevinter Imperium wasn't all bad. It was. It was an awful place. He would try to change it. But that was a matter for another time. He had been used, and at great risk to his life, without his knowledge. He chewed his cheek for a moment in order to keep his anger and hurt in check. This was a momentous historical occasion, and he was trying to bear witness with as academic a mind as he could. He no longer had any personal feelings on the matter. At least that was the complete and utter lie he was trying to convince himself of.

Fay sat in a group with his family, his daughter sitting in his lap, and cradled in his arms. He kissed the top of his daughter's head and murmured some words to her. Dorian swallowed past a lump in his throat and looked away for a moment. Fay was painted with extensive and intimidating red paint. His ears and nose glinted with gold rings and chains. His hair had been freshly shaved from the sides of his head, exposing a set of knew markings extending from his valaslin. His silver hair was tightly braided down his back, with feathers of crows and eagles woven through it. His chest was bare, showing the intricate curves of the tattooing on his arms, and his fresh scars from recent battles. And Dorian could scarcely tear his eyes away from the muscular chest where he had rested his head but a week ago. He shut his eyes and turned his head down.

"I have never witnessed such a thing before." Solas said in quiet wonder. Dorian looked up at the elf. "I… I never knew elven society had developed in this way. Perhaps I have been wrong to stay away from them all this time." He cast his eyes on Fay with renewed interest.

"Developed? I thought they were completely rigorous with upholding their traditions and beliefs. Surely they have always been this way, Solas." Dorian said, trying to distract himself.

"It would seem that keeping traditions did not halt the growth of a people. Of a nation." There was a tone of wonder and incredulity to the apostate's voice.

Cassandra meanwhile was distracted by Dúl who had slunk his way over, barechested and with a painted face to speak with her. He had oak leaves braided into his long golden hair, and maybe it was the firelight, but Dorian thought he looked like a godling of the forests. The twin had a toothy grin, and a crown of blue roses.

"I had some trouble trespassing onto a fancy Orlesian estate to pick these, but nothing less would do." He had a tone of boyish pride in his misadventure, and he proffered to crown to the seething Seeker. Her annoyance was feigned, however. Usually she made a better show, but the blush in her cheeks was unmistakable, even in the dark. Dúl helped to set the thing on her head, and Dorian had to admit, it certainly added to the Seeker's charm.

"Perfect." Dúl said, with a cheeky grin. There was something terribly charming about his manner. Dúl's fingers lingered on Cassandra's cheek for a moment, before he took flight back to his family with silent, lithe footsteps.

"Not a word, mage." Cassandra said through gritted teeth.  
"Me? Why should I say anything? Nothing happened, as far as I can see." He decided he would be kind to Cassandra. It wouldn't do to have everyone around him be his enemy. All the time. He saw her touching her hand to her cheek a moment later, and his eyes darted to Fay. He was in conversation with a woman he assumed was his other sister, Serani. She was a stern looking elf, with a sharp facial structure like her brother Aethwyn. But she seemed to be on better terms with Fay.

The gathered Dalish had been singing joyful songs, and playing an assortment of instruments that gave levity to this gathering. But when the Shaman, the head of their elvish council stepped forward, a silence fell on all gathered. She wore a great headdress with pheasant feathers and a goatskull. Solas looked as though he had never seen the likes. This old woman looked frail to Dorian, as she shuffled to the middle of the gathering, to the fire. But once she stopped and straightened, there was a fierceness about her, and a powerful voice erupted from her lips.

"BEAR WITNESS!" she bellowed. A shiver went down Dorian's spine. There was a strong presence of magic to the woman, and she made no effort to reel it in and keep it hidden. He had felt the likes a few times at home. But for the most part magisters and others of that class preferred to keep the extent of their power hidden. But this woman did not care for such trivialities. And Dorian shuddered at the depths of her power.

"Elvhen! Children of the forests. Shemlen. Guests. Friends." She turned to face Dorian and Cassandra for a moment before she continued. "This is a heavy burden. A heavy task that we have thrust upon one of our own. You have chosen. The gods, the Creators speak through you, my people!" She extended her arms and turned to them all. Their eyes reflected back the firelight. "But we must rejoice! We are united! The clans have come together. One nation! One people!" The gathered elves chanted back "One nation! One people!" The Shaman took a moment to take in her people before she spoke again.

"Faolan Lavellen of clan Lavellan. Step forward."

If Dorian had thought it was quiet before, it was doubly so now. Fay rose slowly, and put his daughter in the arms of his sister Myrn. He walked with silent steps in his bare feet to the Shaman. He was grim faced, but the set of his jaw denoted determination, and a little bit of fear. Dorian felt sickened that he knew that. This was purely an academic moment to him, nothing more. But in this moment seeing the strong arms of the elf clench in anticipation, his mind couldn't help but flit back to moments lost beneath the stars by the side of a stream, where his breaths came fast and ragged. He closed his eyes, as if that would chase these memories away.

"Faolon Lavellan fought bravely to show his strength to us all when challenged. But he did not challenge a single elf himself. He did not seek a challenge, but when a challenge came to him, he overthrew them all with every gift the gods granted him. This elf does not rely on brute strength alone to solve all problems, but he does not shy away from it when it is the solution. The Shemlen chose him to lead their Inquisition. They see the same in him as we, the council of your people see. He is a leader. He is strong. And above all, he is wise. We have chosen him to be our Ríoch'sun. Our King." The Shaman fell quiet for a moment. And then, she began to sing a slow haunting song, that the council of elders joined. The song was in Dalish, and there was something haunting, and sacred about it. Dorian got goosebumps.

The Shaman, seeming more spry now, began to circle Fay. Dorian realised she was dancing. Her voice became more piercing than the others, more plaintive. He could taste the surge of magic at the back of his throat, and from the look on Solas' face, so could he. Cassandra watched with large eyes, unaware. The old woman was weaving threads of magic around Fay, who knelt down on the ground. The Shaman threw her hand into the fire, and Dorian gasped. Her hand emerged blackened by soot, but unharmed. She smeared the soot across Fay's eyes. The black stripe on his face, along with the red paint, made him look incredibly intimidating. She next took a knife from her belt. She didn't stop singing, not for a moment. The ghostly voices of the oldest Dalish elves pierced Dorian's heart with ice. The Shaman sliced the knife down the centre of Fay's back. It wasn't a deep cut, it was but enough to draw a thin ribbon of blood. Fay's face remained impassive, unmoved; as though he had felt no pain. Dorian feared to think what might come next. The Shaman waited for sufficient blood, before she spread it on his muscular back with her crone-like hands. The result was something that looked like bloody wings on his back. The ghostly song ebbed and swelled. The Dalish people watched on with big eyes.

The Shaman moved again to the fire, and picked up the pelt of a great stag. The antlers spread from the pelt's head still. In fact, if Dorian saw correctly in the flickering firelight, all that was left of the pelt was the head an the antlers. The old woman moved to their new King, and placed this pelt upon his head, as though it were some kind of crown. Fay finally stood, and Dorian saw that yes, it very much was a crown. Fay looked fierce, and terrifying. More beast than man. Like a God. Dorian's breath caught. Fay's golden eyes glinted out of the black soot, as he scanned the crowd. His eyes locked with Dorian for but a minute, and his expression was unreadable. Then he raised his head, and released a sound from his lips that was the call of some animal. Not quite a roar, or a howl, but some queer mix of the two. It was terrifying. It was majestic. Dorian realised once more just how big Fay's canine teeth were. They were larger than even most elves. The Dalish people replied to their King with a similar roar. Dorian didn't still quite understand what this would mean for the politics of Thedas on a grand scale, but he knew that this would be an important event. Incomparable to any other. Dorian gazed at the man who had betrayed his trust. Whom he desired more than any other. He stared at what he felt he could never have ever again. He stared in mixed wonder and horror at the King of the Dales.


	19. The Journey Home

The going was slow, but they were finally moving, leaving the recent events behind. They were on the road again, returning to the Inquisition. Dorian stared at Fay's swaying back atop his hart, trying to figure out what to think, what to feel. He had been given dark green armour, with a helmet ornamented with golden stag antlers. A mark of his rank. He was a King. It had been bad enough when he was the Inquisitor. Dorian had felt strange around him at first, knowing that he had that much power, but he had gotten used to it. Now he was a King. What was he supposed to feel? He certainly still felt hurt and used. But what would the political ramifications of a Dalish King be? He could only wonder, and wait to watch events unfold. His eyes moved up from Fay's back to the breach. The malicious scar would give them no peace. It was an ever present reminder of the danger they all faced.

Fay rode beside his brother Dúl who had agreed to come with them. There had been tearful farewells when Fay had parted from his daughter. He had sworn in his booming voice to serve his people, and find justice for them. Whatever that had meant. Dúl looked the complete opposite of his brother now. There was no weight on his shoulders, and he laughed a lot easier, was happier. The twins rode ahead of the rest of them, talking in rapid Dalish. They seemed to get along very well. And Cassandra and Solas were deep in conversation about the first Inquisition. Dorian was very used to being the odd one out. He sighed heavily, and set his mind to simply observing the landscape. But he couldn't cease his worrying over everything that had happened, agonising over the rift between himself and Fay. But he had his pride. He would not let this slip by.

The day passed them by. They had set out before dawn, and now it was shortly after mid-day. They were just on the outskirts of a small Orlesian town.

"I think it would be wise to stop and rest. Eat, and give the horses a chance to recover." Fay said to the group.

"I agree. If we push the horses much more they will go lame. There should be an inn nearby." Cassandra said, breaking off from her longwinded conversation with Solas.

"There is a tavern up ahead. They have lovely bread. I don't know what they put in the stuff!" Dúl offered, with a boyish grin. There was something terribly youthful about him, especially when compared to his twin.

"That seems an odd thing to know." Dorian spoke up for the first time in hours, his voice cracking from disuse. The elf shrugged.

"I love good breads. And it's my business to range out. I'm one of the clan's scouts."

Half an hour later they had stabled their horses, and Fay's hart. The stable boy seemed at a loss as to what to feed the creature. Fay smiled and informed him that hay and oats would be perfectly sufficient. When they headed into the tavern, silence fell. Two large Dalish elves did tend to look out of place in human establishments, but talk resumed quickly. They found a relatively clean table in a dark corner and seated themselves without too much commotion. All the same, every elf in the place was staring at the Dalish brothers. The others were alienage elves, servants. It was rare for the two types of elves to mix, Dorian supposed. That had to be why they were staring. Fay was visibly uncomfortable, and his eyes darted to Dorian's, then darted away again. Dorian's gaze lingered for a moment more. They had hardly looked at each other since they had parted ways, but was Dorian mad in thinking he saw guilt in the elf's eyes?

An elvish barmaid came over to their group with large eyes, her steps cautious. She spoke in flowing Orlesian, and Dorian could only catch a few words. But Dúl answered her perfectly, and suddenly his accent made a lot more sense. She went away again, only to return a few minutes later with a basket of bread that Dúl immediately tucked into. She scuttled away again. Fay put his face in his hands.

"What was that all about?" Dorian asked, trying to sound more amused than confused.

"What? Oh the Shaman cast a spell on Fay so that all Elvhen will see him as their King. It doesn't just stop at the Dalish elves, as you call us. We can't discriminate against our own people." The second Dúl stopped speaking, he was eating bread again.

"But that doesn't mean that they have to follow me, or bow to me, or anything ridiculous." Fay added quickly. "It's just something like a big flaming sing saying King hanging over my head. Only visible to elves." He sounded so embarrassed that Dorian had to stifle a smile very quickly. The serving girl returned quickly with five large tankards of mead. She gazed with big, admiring eyes.

"Merci beaucoup." Fay said, with a perfect Orlesian accent. The girl started, and scuttled away. Fay hid his face in his hands again.

"I never knew you spoke Orlesian." Dorian said, trying his best to be kind and to take the attention away from Fay's humiliation. Fay looked into his eyes with gratitude, and had a familiar smile for a moment, forgetting himself. Then he looked away again.

"Clan Lavellan usually spends most of its time on the Dales, around Halamshiral. Our language is the dialect of that area, and our second language is Orlesian." That made an awful lot of sense to Dorian, but he was surprised that there was more to learn about him.

"So you speak three languages?" Dorian couldn't keep how impressed he was from his voice. Fay was looking uncomfortable again.

"He speaks four languages. We pass through the Kocari Wilds every year, and we have a friendship with the Chasind. Fay speaks their language the best." Fay now rested his head on the table, in defeat. Solas chuckled at the younger elf's embarrassment. Dorian was very impressed, which made him angry at himself. He was supposed to be upset with Fay. Dúl nudged his brother on the arm.

"Hey. The bread is fresh. And warm." He held a piece out to him, which his brother took gratefully after raising his head. It would seem the brothers shared a similar opinion on bread.

"Inquisitor. I must give you thanks for including me in what was truly a historical occasion." Solas said, after some moments of silence had passed.

"I agree with Solas. It was… an experience." Cassandra stated, in her usual brusque manner. At this moment, the serving girl returned with five bowls of hearty stew balanced on her arms. One was noticably fuller than the others. This she set before Fay, before bowing awkwardly and scurrying away again.

"Creators, spare me." he muttered to himself. Dúl rolled his eyes.

"As hilarious as it is that you are mortified, brother, it is going to get very old, very quickly. So just cheer up already. Mama always said you should be more like your brother."

"She said that to you, amadán." Fay said grumpily.

"Dread Wolf take you! There's no talking to you!" Solas flinched.

"I should be decidedly preoccupied should I be named King. " Dorian said, inspecting his fingernails. "Of course my preoccupation would be in choosing a talented grape peeler." Dúl laughed, and started to soak up his stew with his bread. Dorian risked life and limb, and reached for a hunk of bread. He escaped unscathed. It was very fresh, he had the right of it.

The return to Skyhold had been extremely strenuous for Fay. Every single elf he passed knew what he was just by looking at him. He had wondered if it would always be so. Cassandra and Dúl had been riding side by side for the last mile or so to Skyhold. Dúl had always been a dangerously charming boy. He had charmed many women in his time without meaning to. But when he put the least bit of effort in…

Fay didn't know if he approved of Dúl's sudden friendship with Cassandra. He could get hurt. Broken arm hurt. Dúl was explaining the different types of bows that Clan Lavellan liked to use. It would unimaginably be a very boring conversation for her, but she was listening raptly. There were very few things Dúl loved more than his bows. Fay frowned. He vowed to himself that he would have a chat with his brother later about this blossoming friendship.

Fay swung down off his hart, and almost felt his legs collapse under him for having ridden for so long. The stablemaster ran out to him to take the beast from him.

"He's had a long journey. Treat him well." Fay said, in his most exhausted voice.

"I'll take good care of him." the stablemaster said, knowing that Fay's animal was very important to him. Fay set about peeling off his gloves, when Cullen ran up to him.

"Inquisitor. I trust your travels were… productive."

"One could say that Commander. Was there something you needed, friend?" He put a hand on Cullen's shoulder. The stoic Templar had been having a very difficult time lately with his Lyrium withdrawals. But Fay believed in him. Believed in his strength.

"If I could speak to privately sir, there is somebody here to see you." Fay knew from Cullen's tone that this was quite serious. He didn't look back, and followed him immediately, feeling a sense of dread slip over him.

Cullen walked with him up onto the ramparts, and led him to a mostly abandoned corner of the castle. Neither of them spoke a word. The wind whipped through his cloak, and caught his hair. His heart was racing. On the rampart, looking out towards the west, was a figure cloaked in beautiful lapis blue. She had short black hair, and pointed ears. Tears sprang to Fay's eyes.

"Aneth'era, Lethallin." she said as she turned around. Her face was more scarred than the last time he had seen her. More serious and drawn. But she smiled at him.

"Shar!" Fay gasped, and he ran to her, and took her up in his arms, lifting her from her feet. The Hero of Fereldan had returned.


	20. Blood Speaks

"There may be a way." Shar said quietly in Dalish. Fay, Dúl, and the Hero of Fereldan sat up in a tree in the gardens, wearing the clothes of their people, and generally enjoying each other's company.

"Cousin that is amazing news. News to change the world." Dúl said. He was jubilant, his smile stretching far across his face. Shar had a gentle smile for her younger cousin. Shar had always been very quiet-spoken and gentle in her ways. But fierce, and as wild as the twins were. Fay had been surprised when he had heard that she had become a Grey Warden. It seemed like only yesterday that the Blight had happened. They had lost a sister to the sickness. Inuriel would always be close to their hearts.

"Are you certain, cousin? I would hate for you to take so great a risk if it cost you your life." Fay was the more sober of the two brothers. He always had been, and always would be. Shar fixed him with those piercing green eyes that were sage, and wise beyond their years.

"Would you do any less, King? Would you ask your people to take a risk that you yourself would not take?" Fay squirmed uncomfortably. She didn't bow to him, she didn't follow all of his suggestions immediately. But she called him King. He hated it.

"You are correct. I would not. I just worry for you. You have survived so much. I would hate to lose you." Shar's eyes softened, and a gentle smile touched her lips.

"Trouble seems to find this family, does it not?" Fay watched her closely. She seemed weary, and there was a sadness to her.

"It does indeed cousin." Dúl answered. The family was silent for a time, listening to wind rustling the leaves of the tree in which they sat.

"What of you and King Alistair?" Fay asked gently. He had a feeling. And it would seem his feeling was correct.

"I have broken with him." That explained the sad look to her eyes. "He is a King and must have an heir to prevent the land falling to chaos when he… when he dies. I cannot bear his child, and even if I could, the people of Fereldan would never accept a monarch with blood of the People." Dúl now became somber.

"The Quicklings are stupid then. Any child of yours would be a righteous and just ruler." She smiled again and had a slight chuckle for her cousin.

"I think one monarch in the family is more than enough." Fay sighed heavily at her comment.

"I didn't want this."

"You could have backed down."

"Would you have backed down from your people, Hero?" Fay shared a wry look with her.

"Very good, King. You have always been a quick study."

Another moment of silence passed as they all watched a little sparrow twitter in the braches beside them. They all smiled at the small creature, and laughed silently when it hopped all over Fay's lap. When it flew away, there was a sense of levity now over the cousins.

"How did this all come about, Fay? You becoming the Inquisitor of the Quicklings?" Both his brother and his cousin were looking at him with great curiosity now. Fay held up his hand, and the green mark crackled slightly with energy. But the green glow was ever-present.

"This has a lot to answer for." A bolt of pain lanced up his arm, and he hissed quietly. Shar's brows drew down in concern.

"May I see it, little brother?" She had always called him that when they were children. She had no siblings of her own, and she had doted on Fay in particular among all of her cousins.

Fay proffered his hand, and she took it gently in her slender, delicate fingers. She was brave enough to actually touch the mark. She gasped in slight pain.

"Sometimes it settles and doesn't hurt. But when the breach is more active, it flares up." She looked on her cousin with sympathy.

"Well it's one easy way to tell us apart, I suppose." Dúl said, with a look of sympathy. Shar scoffed.

"Please, you two barely look alike at all."

"To you maybe, but Faolan's Quickling mate couldn't tell us apart when I first met him." Shar's face transformed to a look of pleased shock, and Fay's face transformed to a thunder cloud.

"He is not my mate. We… we haven't spoken in some time." Fay explained, but his words were halting. It still hurt, like a deep wound. Shar took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

"If it is a simple disagreement, or even a large disagreement, if you love him you can make things right. Especially if he loves you." Fay listened when Shar spoke, as most everyone did. She was a wise woman, and hero not just to the Shemlen, but to the Elvhen also. But he had his doubts.

"I don't think he loves me." Fay's voice trembled.

Dúl rolled his eyes.

"Please, brother. I have seen the way the Quickling looks at you. He has eyes like Halla when he looks at you. And he stares at you constantly when you're riding." Fay felt a slight palpitation of his hart at his brother's words.

"It does not matter. I have wronged him. I fear I can never repair what I have broken."

"Love finds a way, little brother." He looked at his older cousin. He was very glad that she accepted that he loved a man without question. His family had been so supportive of his romance. Ever since Naja's mother had died, he had been closed off from the world. They saw his love for Dorian as a good thing. But he had ruined it.

"Will love find a way for you and Alistair?" He didn't say it in a malicious way. He was concerned for her happiness. She deserved only joy for saving them all. Shar smiled gently again.

"I believe it will. Alistair did not wish to break from me. But I do not want to be there when he sows his seed in another woman. Again." Dúl gave her a questioning look, but she waved him off. Fay understood exactly what she meant. Kieran was Alistair's son. Some deal to keep Shar alive when she defeated the Archdemon.

"When he has his child by Anora, will you return to him?" Dúl asked, with the exact same gentle tone that Fay had used.

"I believe I will. He and I… We share a soul." Dúl reached over to her, and gave her shoulder a pat. She gave him a sarcastic look. Another moment of silence passed where the elves enjoyed being in each other's company. Then Dúl sat up, and gently nudged his cousin's shoulder.

"There he is now!" Fay looked down to where Dúl was looking. Dorian was walking across the courtyard towards Cullen. The two men smiled at each other, shared a joke, before they sat down to play chess.

"He's very handsome! He has a regal bearing. And so fair of hair! I like him!" Shar said, with a youthful smile now. She was clearly being influenced by Dúl's mood.

"No no, that's Commander Cullen. The other man is-"

"Cullen?" Shar snapped, suddenly serious, her face blanching slightly.

"Ye-es…" Fay faltered.

"I have met him before, but come. It is the other man that you love?"

They all took a moment to observe the two men playing chess. Nobody could see the three elves up in the tree. They were hidden by the thick foliage.

"He loves you." Shar said, after a good fifteen minutes of observing him in silence.

"How can you possibly know that?" Fay could scarcely tear his eyes away from Dorian. He could remember ever breath that the man had taken in his arms. He could remember the feel of his body against him. How he groaned lightly in his sleep as he turned over. His smirk, and his sparkling eyes when he was up to mischief.

"Look at him. He is sad. He has a longing to him. And if you look closely, you can see an eagle feather just beneath the collar of hi coat. The type of feather I know belongs in your hair." Fay saw exactly what she was pointing out, and his heart skipped a beat.

"That doesn't prove anything." Fay said, shakily. He didn't even believe himself. He wasn't the least bit convincing. Dúl rolled his shoulders.

"We can't stay up here forever. And you can't avoid him forever. Talk to him tonight, or so help me I will throw you off the edge of this Skyhold." His brother was trying to be serious, but it was clear that there was no maliciousness in his tone. "Don't you have Inquisiting to do?" Fay rolled his eyes, and their cousin laughed quietly.

"I have missed you both so much." Shar gently took both of their hands, and again they spent a moment in silence together. Without having to even look at each other, they all slipped from the tree, dropping into a low crouch. Cullen and Dorian looked around at the three elves, who stared at them for just a moment. Dúl and Shar stalked off like the pair of hunters that they were. But Fay remained a moment to lock eyes with Dorian. They stared at one another, and Fay couldn't help but get lost in those grey eyes. There was something open and vulnerable about the way Dorian looked at him. Maybe he did have a chance to set things right.


	21. Thunder

There was a brisk breeze today. It carried the scent of wood fires on that crisp, frosty air. In Tevinter, especially where he lives, things never became quite as cold as this. Dorian had never had to make a conscious effort to stay warm. There had been fires lit for him, hot stones put into his bed for him, hot drinks handed to him. He had never understood cold before he had come to the Inquisition. He had tried to bear it with as much dignity as he could muster, but this truly was a birth by fire. Well, ice in truth. Dorian had never gone without a servant before. He had never realised how difficult it was to simply feed himself. He was truly beginning to grasp how privileged he was.

He stared out at the gates as he had done time and again once before. But Fay was here. He had dropped out of a tree in the courtyard with his family. It had been truly bizarre. Dorian pulled the wolf fur closer around himself. It was as black as night. Fay had hunted the wolf down for its fur to give to Dorian. He had been cold in Emprise du Lion. And Fay had provided for him. The soft fur tickled his face as he considered it all. Was this huff worth it? Could he risk losing this beautiful thing that had found him? Had he already lost it? But Fay had been wrong. Dorian's mind was turning every little thing over, his eyes staring into the horizon as though all the details were written on the landscape. People could make mistakes. People could hurt each other accidentally. What was he standing to gain by punishing them both?

Dorian took in a breath of the sharp, smoke-tinged air. The stars were just beginning to peek out from behind the curtain of dusk. They would sparkle and shimmer with the frost in the air. Fay had taught him that. Dorian closed his eyes, and as if summoned by a thought, he heard a light footfall behind him. A tentative hand touched him on the shoulder as the man drew level with him. Dorian kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, dreading the heartache that would proceed when he opened them. But he had to force his eyes open eventually. He found golden orbs staring back at him. They were watery as though they smarted at the sharp air. Or was he perhaps as emotional as he was?

"I'm sorry." Fay said, in that gentle voice he took up when alone with Dorian. The mage's eyes fluttered closed for another second.

"I know." Dorian spoke past a frog in his throat.

"You know how I feel about you." Dorian opened his eyes again. Fay's hair, loose and tousled, fluttered in the breeze. His sculpted lips were parted, and his eyes were now swimming. Dorian had another sharp intake of breath.

"Tell me anyways."

The elf leaned against the battlement, his face troubled, choosing his words very carefully.

"I see you in every page of every book. Every curving line of every letter." He paused after this beginning, overcome with emotion for a moment. "I hear your voice from across the courtyard, and my heart leaps from my chest. I turn to gaze at you, and my heart breaks. I fight by your side, and I am filled with rage when any creature turns their aggression towards you. I would rip the hearts from a thousand demons to keep you safe." Fay's knuckles turned white with the strength at which his clenched his fists.

"I would set down my blade forevermore if you asked it." He walked away for a moment, clearly distraught. His eyes were working, as though some great thing were slipping through his fingers. "I wake in the night, thinking of nothing but your eyes. Your smile. Your voice." He broke into tears at this point, and Dorian took a half step towards him. "I reach for you, to hold you, to protect you, and you are not there. I pushed you away with a simple, and cutting folly. I can never ask your forgiveness." Fay finally turned back to face him, his eyes pleading. "I adore you, ma vhenan. I always shall." Fay held his hand out to Dorian, weakly, his hand trembling. Dorian grasped it tightly before it dropped. They stared at one another before they fell into one another's arms. Neither was unmoved. They cried quietly together and held each other tightly. After what felt like hours, Dorian spoke.

"We will try." Fay held him at arms length, and studied him closely. His tear-stained face was serious.

"I… I have never had this before." Dorian blustered at last, feeling mortified, his face hot. He broke away from Fay, and stood staring out at the distance again. He wanted to hide his face. He had never been good at explaining how he felt. Feelings weren't really allowed in Tevinter. At least not the kind of feelings he had.

"I have been with others before, but… never like this. A moment in the darkness, in secrecy, and that was all that could be risked. I have never thought to find myself here." He could feel Fay's golden eyes burning into his back. "Love was never an option for me. I would be forced into a miserable marriage and forced to procreate, and that would be called love. That would be called a good match. Good breeding." Hot tears were flowing down his face anew. "I couldn't do that, that couldn't be my life." Dorian's level of anxiety and panic were rising. His breathing was coming faster. He felt Fay beside him, his hand on his back, running soothing circles. He rested Dorian against his chest, where he could hear his heartbeat. He hushed him gently with soothing sounds. He calmed for a moment.

"You are safe here Dorian. You are safe from that fate. It shall not befall you." Fay spoke with such certainty, that for a brief moment, Dorian believed him. In his mind, he knew he would never allow himself to be trapped like that, but convincing his gut of that was a completely different challenge. But for a moment, his gut fear was quieted. In Fay's arms, he would never be shackled to a woman he would never love.

"It's getting angrier." Dorian said, gazing at the rift in the sky, trying to shift the focus, make things less emotional for a moment. A respite. Fay took a step away and a shaky breath. He held his left hand out to Dorian to inspect. The angry green gash had grown and was pulsing with a haunting light.

"I know." Fay said quietly, staring at the sky. "But we have to try. We have to fight to stop this. I can't lose all of this. We don't deserve to go out like this." His jaw was tightened. "I need to close that thing, and crush Corypheus. I need to have a life to live with you after all of this." He gazed back at Dorian again, his eyes still soft with sorrow. "I'm sorry." he whispered again.

"I know." Dorian whispered back as he took his elf in his arms. "I know."


	22. Vipers

"Inquisitor, if you had a moment." A distinctly Orlesian voice called out to him. Fay recognised it immediately.

"Mother Giselle. How can I be of service?" Fay asked in perfect Orlesian. He clasped his hands behind his back as he towered over the small Mother. They would have relative privacy in the garden, so their conversation might have had a chance of not being overheard by everyone. She looked surprised.

"You speak the language?" she asked.

"Of course I do. My Clan is native of Halamshiral. We may be a nomadic people, now Mother Giselle, but the Elvhen were not always so." The mother cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable at the subtle reminder of the Exalted March against his people. His gaze was unflinching.

"Inquisitor, I wished to speak with you regarding a letter I have received. It pertains to one of your… companions. The Tevinter." Fay took a moment to digest her words, and to pick what he said next. He pulled his braid over his shoulder, running his hand down the rope of hair.

"Do I detect a tone of distaste, Mother?" he challenged. As much as he was truly trying to be careful with his words, he couldn't help but bristle.

"Not at all Inquisitor. But I will admit, his presence here makes me feel uneasy." The mother spoke quietly, Fay tried his best to do the same. To keep the annoyance from his voice.

"What of this letter, mother?" Giselle nodded and pulled the letter from her sleeve, clutching it like a talisman. She did not hand it to him. That only further served to offend him.

"I have received a letter from the man's family. I believe the boy to be estranged from them. They simply wish to meet with him, and have asked for my help." She was just short of wringing her hands. Fay took a breath. She was clearly just trying to help. He shouldn't speak so harshly to her.

"Can we trust the legitimacy of this letter?"

She nodded. "I believe so. I am speaking of this to you because I believe you can help me with this." She opened the letter. "A representative of the family wishes to meet young Serah Pavus in the Gull and Lantern in Redcliffe. Perhaps you could bring him there, on some pretense, for I know he would not meet with them himself." She was nervous, and with good reason. Fay could no longer contain his outrage.

"You wish for me to deceive him?! To lie to his face and not give him a choice? He is my friend, Mother Giselle. You know this. Did you honestly think this gambit would work? You must think my loyalty counts for nothing." He almost spat the words. She took a step back.

"Please Inquisitor, think of a family torn apart. You will not tell him of this letter." she said, a tone of panic in her voice.

"The hell I won't!" he snapped, as he turned on his heel. He stormed through the gardens back into Skyhold. People leapt out of his way, but who wouldn't leap out of the way of an angry elf of that size? He took the steps of the turret stairs two at a time until he came upon Dorian poring over about five books at once. Fay was dragging heavy breaths from the speed at which he had moved. He stared at Dorian for a moment, admiring how hard he worked, how intelligent he was. And at the same time fearing the conversation he had ahead of him.

Dorian heard the heaving breathing behind him, and turned with a confused face. His eyes met Fay's, and then scanned the room. He didn't quite know what to make of the look on Fay's face, but he knew it was trouble.

"Can I speak to you? In private?" the elf asked, his breath coming back to him quickly. Dorian slowly set one of the books down.

"Outside." Dorian said quietly, as he walked past him, heading for the battlements. Fay followed him with lighter footsteps. He looked up at the battlements ahead of them, to the place where Cullen made his home. He tried to compose himself.

"Well? What is it? Have we news on Corypheus?" Dorian asked. Fay wetted his lips, and stared into the man's eyes. Dorian furrowed his brow. He could tell something was wrong.

"Where do I start?" Fay pulled his braid over his shoulder. "Mother Giselle received a letter from... Well from your family. Giselle wanted me to contrive a way for you and your family to be in the same room. Without you knowing." He blurted it all, and he felt very tactless for having done so. Fay expected his love to react immediately with anger. But he was completely still. His eyes were riveted on Fay.

"What did the letter say exactly?" Dorian's voice was quiet, and seemed calm. But Fay could smell the panic coming off him in waves.

"I am unsure. Mother Giselle would not show it to me." Fay wanted to reach out to Dorian to comfort him. But he knew better than to do so. Because after the initial panic, came the rage.

"Where did they want me to meet them?"

"Dorian..."

"Where?!" He snapped. Fay recoiled for a moment and then explained it all to him in more detail. "Well then. To the Gull and Lantern we must go, mustn't we. Wouldn't want to keep them waiting." Fay had never heard Dorian sound like this. He was sharp, and cold. But Fay understood. At least, he understood that this was a complicated matter.

"If it is your wish to go, then I shall follow. You should not face this alone." Something in Dorian's face softened. "We walk together, always." Fay quietly said.

"Then let us walk together into the Viper's nest, shall we?"


	23. Fucking Legacy

"Dorian."

"Father." The Gull and Lantern was completely deserted, save for these three men. Fay inspected Dorian's father closely. He had heard nothing about this man. Knew nothing about him. Dorian had not offered up information about his family relationships, but Fay knew that it was strained. He was simply here to be a support to the mage, so he hung back as Dorian approached the older man. Fay could see the familial resemblance. There was a similar steeliness to his eyes, similar shape to his face, darker hair, just like his son's. But Dorian's skin was fairer, he was slimmer, and had more prominent cheekbones. Fay could feel the tension between the father and son, so he watched the stranger warily.

"I apologise, Inquisitor. It was not my intention to involve you in this." Fay's eyes snapped down to the older man's once he realised he was being addressed. He simply looked at him in confusion.

"Of course, father. Gods forbid you should be seen with the dreaded Inquisitor!" Dorian spat. Fay realised maybe this was a mistake. But it was Dorian's mistake to make.

"Dorian please..."

"What, Father? Are you afraid I may say something to shame you before your enemy?" Things were beginning to get heated already.

Dorian's father made to speak again, when Dorian turned to the Inquisitor, rage etched onto every line of his face.

"I prefer the company of men." Fay was thoroughly confused now. He knew this about Dorian. Was intimately aware of the fact. Why should it come up now, as though it were a point of an argument?

"Dorian please do not-"

"Is that all you can ask of me, father?!" Dorian spun back to face his father.

"Is... Is that a problem in Tevinter, then?" Fay asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

"It is a problem for my father, Inquisitor! In the Imperium the purpose of birth is to create the perfect mage. Every child is bred to have the strongest possible attributes by being borne of the strongest possible match. Anything that is different is seen as an... an aberration! Something shameful... Deviant!" Dorian took a breath. Fay felt himself becoming cold. He did not like where this was going. He knew something abominable was coming.

"He taught me to hate blood magic. The resort of a weak mind, he would say. Those are your words." He spat at his father. There was a noticeable strain in Dorian's voice. This was more than rage. This was a complicated knot of emotions that was coming to bear in this moment.

"Yet what was the first thing you resorted to when your precious heir refused to play pretend? Refused to a life of solitary torture? You tried to change me."

Fay gasped, and felt as though he were going to be sick.

"I was trying to do what I thought best for you!" His father's tone was plaintive, pleading. Fay was shocked at the thought of it. He tried to imagine himself in that situation. When his own father had seen him paying attentions to another man, he hadn't batted an eye. He was only pleased to see his son happy. His father was a mage too. He couldn't imagine what it would be like for his own father to be disgusted by something as simple as who his son was attracted to. To then try to change something so natural with something as abhorrent as blood magic.

"How could you?" Fay said quietly, in his shock. Dorian's father looked at the Inquisitor as though he had forgotten he was there. Dorian also looked at his love, with big eyes. "You could have killed him. And that was an acceptable risk?" Fay was starting to feel angry, but he tried his best to reign it in.

"If I had known it would drive you to the Inquisition..." Halward said, ignoring the Inquisitor completely.

"No, I joined the Inquisition because it is the right thing to do. It would seem your moral compass is completely askew. What happened to the father I knew? You would never stand by and allow this to happen. You would never had done what you tried to do to your only son. And yet... You did." Dorian was starting to sound, defeated, exhausted. Fay would have felt the same in his position. This was emotionally exhausting. It was horrifying.

"I was wrong." his father said, slowly. Dorian was blinking back tears, and pulling each breath in with greater difficulty. Fay took a step forward.

"Vhenan." he breathed. But Dorian held up a hand to stop him. Fay complied, understanding that this was an impossible situation to process and unpack.

"Yet, father, you still tried to do it. And I can't easily forgive that. Not yet." Dorian shook hsi head and walked away, through the door of the empty tavern. Fay stood for a moment.

"You love him." Dorian's father said. It was almost an accusation. Almost.

"So do you." the elf replied, before he followed Dorian's lead.

"Tell me how it is with your people." Dorian asked later that night, with his head resting on Fay's chest. The warmth of his skin was comforting, the sound of his heartbeat more so. He lay on a pool of his own tears, but Fay hadn't said a word of protest. He had simply held him, and stroked his hair until he had exhausted himself.

"To what do you refer, ma vhenan?" Fay's baritone voice rumbled through his chest, and Dorian held him closer for a moment, enjoying the realness of him.

"When male elves prefer the company of other male elves... Or male humans as the case is here." Fay sighed heavily. A part of Dorian knew that the answer would hurt him, and Fay was aware of this, and debating it. Fay didn't want to hurt him. At least there was one person in his life that he purposefully didn't want to hurt.

"It depends from person to person of course." That was a very diplomatic answer. Perhaps being the Inquisitor, a diplomat, was beginning to change him.

"For you then. How was it for you?"

"No different. It was the same as if I loved a woman." Dorian closed his eyes. He was sickened, but a part of him was blissfully happy. What his father had done was incredibly wrong, and the fact that Fay had faced only acceptance made Dorian realise how wrong his own treatment had been.

"My father likes you, you know." There was a snake of sardonic humour in the elf's voice. Dorian sat up, and stared down at him.

"What? I... I hadn't considered..." He looked away, and blew a breathe out of his cheeks. He was suddenly filled with a new anxiety that, for a moment, obliterated his hurt.

"Hadn't considered what?" Fay had a slight smile on his face. Dorian was coming to know that smile so well.

"Your family. Liking me. What would think of me. I've never been in this position. In this long-term position. I don't know what to do." He sounded like he was panicking. Fay rubbed circles on his back and hushed him gently.

"My father said he found you to be very bright. Intelligent. That you asked him questions about magic that he had never considered before. He liked that. And he found you to be respectful. Of our ways and customs. Of our magics. He liked. Greatly. And my sister Myrn likes you. And Dúl adores you. Aethwyn is a write off. He doesn't like anyone. Not even me."

"And Serani?" This caused Fay to laugh.

"How well you remember them all. She says she likes you. She's never been one to express emotions very vocally. But she certainly accepts you." Dorian was shaking his head back and forth. "What is it?"

"I don't know how to behave. I've never been in the sort of relationship where I have to impress parents, and be friends with siblings. How do I do this?" Dorian wondered if maybe the information he needed was in a book somewhere in this castle. Probably not. They were shamefully short on books. Fay took his chin, dragging him out of his reverie.

"Proceed as you have been. They like you. Dúl practically loves you." He paused for a moment.

"I love you." Fay's breath quickened after he had said this. Dorian was stunned into silence. They stared at each other for a moment.

Considering the evening that Dorian had just had, this was... surprising to say the least. Because of the life he had to lead in Tevinter, because of his father's actions, Dorian had always felt he was undeserving of romantic love. He had felt dirty and worthless. Wrong. Broken. But how could he be broken when Faolan Lavellan, the King of the Dales, the Inquisitor, the purest most beautiful person he knew, was confessing his love for him? How could this be wrong? This precious moment, this strong, yet delicate feeling. And then it welled up within him, and he felt as though he would burst if he did not release it.

"I love you too." He nearly shouted this at Fay, such was his anxiety. Fay began to laugh, and soon Dorian followed suit. They fell back together on the bed in the Inquisitor's lofty quarters, filling the room with laughter.

"Good. Well. That's settled then." Fay said, through his laughter.

"Yes. I did rather bash you about the head with that statement." Dorian slipped his hand into Fay's, and they stared across at each other.

"I'm glad that you did."

"I'm glad you were there." The levity had suddenly left the room. "Thank you, Fay. I couldn't have done that alone."

"You'll never have to be alone. I promise."


	24. Champion of Kirkwall

"It would be wise to consolidate sooner, rather than later, little brother." Shar, the Hero of Fereldan said, as she stood in the war room with her cousins Dúl and Fay. "You have been chosen to lead the people in this hard time, but you know that the clans will only accept you if you win them over. My own clan, Sabrae should be in the Frostbacks by now. The may be difficult to win over, but they can see sense, I promise you." Fay drank in the words of his older and wiser cousin. She was leaving soon. She could stay no longer. She had found her next lead, but would say no more. Fay did not push. That did not stop Dúl from annoying her though.

"You are right, Shar. I should then move on to Virnehn to the north. Their Keeper-" The doors to the war room opened suddenly, and the three elves snapped their heads up to look. Varric pushed his way into the room, looking shiftier than usual. "He is a friend." Fay briefly explained, before walking over to said friend.

"What is amiss?" Fay was concerned. Normally Varric was the one with a smirk, and a hilarious anecdote to tell. But he was serious, and nervous. This was peculiar.

"Well I've got someone you'll want to meet Inquisitor. And the Seeker is going to kill me if she finds out." Fay closed his eyes, and understood who Varric was talking about. This could get messy.

"Is it him?"

"Yes."

"Is he here?"

"Definitely."

Fay swore in Dalish, then turned to his family. "I need to see to... this. Will you wait for me, Shar?"

"I won't leave without saying goodbye, little brother." There was a tenderness to her voice that not many heard. He smiled grimly at his cousin, before he turned and followed Varric. Varric was practically running out of the castle, up the battlements. Fay had never seen him look so agitated. So excitable. Fay could hardly believe who he was going to meet. They walked together up the last couple of steps, and there he stood. A tall human man in a battered travelling cloak stood with his back to them. He had a longsword strapped to his back, and Fay could see the armour peeking out from behind the cloak.

"Lovely place you've got here, Inquisitor. Truly, I'm jealous." The black haired man turned to greet them both, with a wide grin on his face.

"It's an upgrade from the aravel, I'll agree." Fay said, trying to match the light sarcasm of the other man.

"Look, as much as I'm a fan of swapping quips, can we get to the point here, before the Seeker finds out I lied to her and skins me alive?" Varric interjected. The two men looked at the dwarf for a moment, before looking back at each other. "Inquisitor, this is Garret Hawke. Champion, this is Fay Lavellan. Proceed." Fay had never thought to meet the Champion. Ever since the events in Kirkwall a while back, there had been no word on the enigmatic Champion of Kirkwall.

"Down to business it is then!" The two men quickly clasped hands, without even so much as a formal introduction. "I have an ally among the Grey Wardens who may be of assistance to you. I know they've been rather quiet lately, haven't they? This ally of mine may know a thing or two about Corypheus. I thought that might be of use to you." Hawke smirked, knowing that his information was of paramount importance.

"Any information we can get..." Fay thought for a moment. They didn't know nearly enough about their enemy. Meeting a Warden who had information about the creature was now his top priority. "Who is this Warden?"

"A man by the name of Stroud. Orlesian chap. Fabulous moustache. I hear you like those." Garrett had a smirk for the Inquisitor when he looked at him searchingly. Fay took a breath to say something, but decided against it.

The farewell between Fay and Dúl and their cousin Shar, had been tearful. On the part of the twins at least. They did not know when they would see their cousin next. And they all had a darker thought at the back of their minds. They did not know if they would ever see her again. Dúl had chosen to remain behind at Skyhold, to assist the hunters in finding well know Dalish hunting tracks. That was one thing that Dúl was better at than his brother. Hunting. Fay set off with Hawke and Varric for Crestwood. The weather worsened steadily to a constant drum of rain as they came closer and closer to their destination. Crestwood was a mire, a damp and desolate locale around a deep lake. There was a foul smell to the place. Fay thought it smelled somewhat of decay. The air had that sickly sweet quality.

Hawke and Fay rode side by side for a time in silence. The sound of the rain created something of a barrier. But that had never stopped Hawke before.

"So. The Inquisitor and the Hero of Fereldan are cousins. How intruiging. Maybe only the Dalish can save the world. I only saved a city." There was something about Hawke that amused Fay, and put a smile on his face.

"You flatter me. I have yet to save the world, you know." There was something flirtatious about the way Hawke smiled at him. Fay thought maybe he was imagining it. But why would he be imagining it? That would be slightly more worrying.

"I have every confidence that you will. A strong capable elf such as yourself? Corypheus doesn't stand a chance." Fay looked away, and down at the dappled, purple fur of his mount. It suddenly struck him that the way Hawke was speaking to him reminded him of Dorian. Dorian was an outrageous flirt, and he carried it off well. But he wasn't Dorian. He wasn't him.

"You have been in touch with Varric this entire time, then, I take it?" Fay said, by way of answering. And by answering, he meant to completely ignore the flirtatious remarks. He didn't yet know how he felt about it. Flattered for sure.

"Of course he has, Inquisitor. As if I'd lose touch with Hawke like that. You know me better than that." Varric had caught up with them both. Maybe he had sensed the Inquisitor's disquiet.

"Varric never gave you away. He swore blindly to Cassandra that he had no idea where you were. And if you don't already know, lying to Cassandra is a very brave thing to do." Fay explained, smiling brightly.

"Very stupid thing to do. You should be grateful!" Varric said, pointing a somewhat threatening finger at his friend. Instead of the humour and levity being returned, Hawke had turned suddenly serious.

"We're here." He dismounted from his horse, and hitched his reins outside a decidedly dank looking cave. Varric and Fay looked at each other before dismounting. Fay put his hand gently on the muzzle of his hart.

"Wait for me, if it be your will." he said in Dalish. The beast snorted, and shook his head. Fay smiled and patted him. He turned to follow the Champion into the cave. He lifted his sword a couple of inches, and let it drop back. He had a feeling there would be trouble.

Stroud was an Orlesian man with a heavy accent, and an incredibly impressive moustache. And Fay could tell that he was an experienced Warden. They eventually abandoned trying to speak to each other in the common tongue, and reverted to Orlesian, much to the annoyance of Varric.

"All Wardens have been summoned by Warden-Commander Clarel. I am sure your friend Blackwall mentioned that he is hearing the Calling."

"He did not. But my cousin mentioned it."

"Your cousin?"

"Shar Sabrae." Stroud inspected the Inquisitor for a moment, and seemed to look impressed. Most people were when they learned of his hero relation.

"Well, we begin to hear the Archdemon when our time is coming. But all of us are hearing it. We suspect this has something to do with Corypheus. There is some suspicion that he intends to inflict another blight on us all." Fay gasped at this.

"What? What did he say?" Varric asked impatiently. Fay explained briefly.

"Well shit. Another blight? On top of all this other weird shit?" The dwarf shook his head, and took a step away.

"Somehow, that isn't the worst part." Hawke said quietly.

"Clarel believes that there may be a way to prevent all future blights. By ending them all now." Stroud explained. His tone was grave, and disapproving. Fay was beginning to feel weak, and sick.

"How would they do that?"

"Blood magic." Stroud pronounced it like a curse. Fay shuddered, and he thought he was going to faint from the sheer idea that was starting to form up. It was dire.

"They intend, I believe, to summon demons, and descend into the deep roads for a final stand against all future Archdemons, all Darkspawn, and end all blights forever." Fay was shaking his head back and forth.

"No. That would never work. They would simply destroy the world." Stroud nodded slowly.

"That was my opinion. But they deemed me a traitor, and forced me into exile."

Fay quickly explained to Varric what had been said, and he was in a similar state of disbelief, and shock.

"Shit shit shit. Inquisitor, what are we going to do? Those maniacs are going to end the damned world." Fay took a moment to try to adjust, to get used to this new challenge that faced him. But no amount of time would have prepared him for what was to come.

"Well. We have to stop them. And soon."


	25. Adamant

His breathing sounded louder from within his helmet. There was a dampness accumulating along the metal. He watched with big eyes as the battering ram began to splinter the gates. He gripped his greatsword all the tighter. The time was drawing near when blood would have to be shed. Warden blood. It had, very unfortunately, proven true that the Wardens were in collusion with the Venatori. The Grey Wardens were slipping under the control of demons. They were becoming abominations; their blood the fuel for dark magic. They had to be stopped before they tore the world apart. Before they covered the world with darkness and Blight. So Fay had ordered the attack. If they would not stop, their actions would be forced to a halt.

"Ready yourselves!" Cullen shouted. Fay had deferred the role of command to somebody who actually had experience commanding troops. Fay had his own particular purposes in this battle. But if there were demons to be fought, he would take as many of them down as he could.

"Stay close to me. I anticipate this will be chaos." Fay said to his companions. Blackwall, Vivienne, and Varric braced themselves. He had purposely put Dorian as far away from him as possible. Fay intended to go into the thickest of it. He didn't want Dorian to get hurt. But he accepted the possibility that he might, no matter where he was in this battle. Fay's bowels felt like water. He was scared shitless. Whatever about skirmishes with very terrifying enemy, he had never had to wait to enter into a pitched battle of this magnitude.

"We will be with you, Inquisitor." Vivienne spoke softly enough. But she was gentle in her tone. Not very usual for the mage. This made Fay all the more nervous.

"If you die, Inquisitor, then I am outta here." Varric said, as he strung his crossbow.

"As always, Varric, you are the definition of comforting." Fay said through gritted teeth. But there was a giddiness about him. A nervousness for what was to come. He felt like a horse trapped in a burning stables.

"Well I am small, warm, and fuzzy. What could be more comforting?" Varric said sarcastically. Fay grinned wolfishly, and watched as an aperture emerged in the heavy oaken doors.

"HOLD THE LINE! HOOOOOLD!" Cullen roared. A silence of anticipation fell upon the troops. They collectively held their breaths.

"Forward march!" There was a great surge forwards that carried the small group. They had breached the fortress. All around them were the rallying cries of the men and women of the Inquisition. Fay's voice joined in the distinctive cry of the Elvhen. His heart was racing, and there was a slight tremble to his hand. He was terrified. But he ran in all the same. He ran for his life. He ran for the lives of the Elvhen. He ran for Dorian's life. He ran for Naja's life. His teeth flashed in the moonlight as his blade sunk into the form of the first demon. Their foul ichor sprayed upon him, hitting the small piece of flesh that his helmet didn't quite cover. Time disolved into a meaningless entity as demon upon demon threw themselves at him. It seemed like seconds. It seemed like eternity. He cried out when the demon's claws parted his skin. But he continued to fight. He gritted his teeth against the pain and the exhaustion and he fought on.

A moment came in the battle as he was fighting his way up onto a battlement. It was an arduous struggle uphill against the hordes. What had the Grey Wardens unleashed into the world? A brute of a demon held his sword clasped in his claws and Fay was struggling with all his strength, all his weight against the demon, desperately trying to free himself. A shade bore down on him, moving to strike him down. A whisper of the forest, of the voices of his people, their singing, their cries, the language, brushed past his ear. The shade was struck down, an arrow protruding from where it's heart would have been if it had one. It gave Fay that extra moment of time to free himself and cut the Shade down properly. Vivienne dispatched the larger beast with a flourish. Fay looked back in the direction the arrow had come from. His brother Dúl stood atop a crenellation, his head bare, his face smeared with blood. He looked at his brother for a moment before he disappeared back into the chaos of the fray. He sent a silent prayer up to the creators that he would be okay. That he would survive this. His precious twin. They had shared a womb, and nearly all of their lives together. He couldn't imagine a world without Dúl in it. The Wardens, Corypheus would pay if any harm came to him.

"This way, Inquisitor! I think I hear them!" Blackwall called. Fay could hear them now too. Voices. Human voices that cut through the sound of the demon horde.

"GO!" Fay shouted. His small group ran towards the sound. This would be put to a stop. Somehow.

Falling. In breathless agony. Tearing. Reaching. Cold chaos.

Fay tried to drag breath into his lungs. But something wasn't quite right. His lungs filled, but it was all wrong. He gasped more of this strangeness in as his eyes flew open. His mind could not process what he was seeing. There was a nightmarish quality to his surroundings. He blinked, hoping that would help his mind make sense of this somehow, but it didn't help. He looked down into an empty void. Into eternity. He yelped in fear. He started to fall upwards until he made contact with something solid, rather forcefully. Whatever was filling his lungs was forced out. He lay in pain for a time before opening his eyes again. He clung to the ground. This nightmare realm seemed to be righted at least. It seemed unlikely now that he would fall into what he assumed was the sky.

"Creators..." he muttered. Great and angry clouds filled with green lightning swarmed in the distance around tall black peaks. Islands of black rock hung suspended in the sky. Fay felt dread grip at his guts. He was starting to remember. An archdemon, falling, the anchor pulling apart the fabric of the veil. Falling. He gasped and looked around him.

"VARRIC! BLACKWALL! VIVIENNE!" he called, in panic. He could not see them. But he heard something. A gurgling, a growling. "Oh shit." Fay drew his sword. It seemed lighter here. Well that was something.

He fought back the demons for what seemed like hours, but his arms didn't grow tired. In fighting them, he felt no fear. This was something he knew. Something familiar.

"Stop." A deep echoing voice rolled across the sky like thunder. The demons stopped in their tracks, watching him with rage-filled eyes. They stood for a time, before they began to withdraw. Fay panted, watching them. He didn't understand this. This couldn't be… It was not physically possible. But there it was in the distance. The Black City.

He was in the Fade.

The realisation hit him like a brick wall. He stared around him in a blank panic. He didn't know how he had gotten into the Fade. And he didn't know how he was supposed to get out.


	26. Nimué

It felt like days. It may well have been days. But Fay felt no thirst. He felt no hunger. He simply walked. Walked. Walked. He did not tire. His feet did not grow sore. But his mind dimmed. His surroundings were a constant hellscape. There was an unsettling rumbling coming constantly from a horizon that the elf would never reach. His mind wandered. His body did not feel tired, but his mind was falling asleep. He was alone in a vast emptiness. Nothing grew. Nothing moved. There was no water. There was no air, at least not the kind he was used to breathing. Existence was different here. He was dozing off, while still dragging his feet, when he felt a violent shiver rend his way down his spine. He suddenly wasn't alone. He jerked awake, and stared around him. A woman stood behind him. An angry woman.

"You killed me." she hissed. Fay, had he been in the real world, would have fainted from shock.

"Nimué, ma vhenan." Fay dropped to his knees. The elf woman who stood before him had long auburn hair, and large, piercing green eyes. Her large eyes had the quality of always possessing a look of innocence. Even now, there was an innocence to her look, which was surrounded by fury. Nimué was a short elf, built like a barrell. She was exceptionally beautiful. She was exceptionally dead.

"You. KILLED. Me." she said again. She looked as though she would strike him.

"I-I don't understand what you say." Fay stammered.

"Your child murdered me! She robbed me of my life!" Fay gasped in a breath. She may as well have struck him. He shook his head. This was everything he was afraid of. It was true. He had robbed her of her life. But it wasn't Naja's fault. Surely Nimué wouldn't be so spiteful. She wouldn't despise her own daughter.

"It wasn't her fault, my love." Fay slipped easily into the elven tongue. "You died, and I have regretted that day for all of my life since. I have mourned for you. I mourn for you still. With every waking moment." Tears splashed down his face. "I wish to the Creators that Naja could know her mother. Know the strong and beautiful woman you were."

"She never will." Nimué said. "Because she killed me." There was a steeliness to her voice. Fay slowly stood up.

"That is hardly fair!" Anger gripped Fay, but it could not outweigh his grief. Nimué tilted her head to the left.

"You dishonour me. You dishonour me with that Shemlen. With that _man_. You are an abomination!" she screamed. Fay's breath caught. He stared at her, wounded, and incredibly confused. He shook his head back and forth, back and forth. He turned slowly on his heel, and continued to walk towards the Black City.

"I thought you loved me Fay." Her voice was vulnerable, filled with tears now. But he continued to walk. He was in the Fade. He was probably the only real thing here, and he should remember that. He clenched his jaw tightly, and balled his hands into fists. He walked. Walked. Walked. And she would not stop talking. Attacking him with her words. Attacking him with his fears. He had blamed himself for years for Nimué's death. Their love had been epic, and exceptionally short-lived. Fay and Nimué had known of each other for years. She was a part of Shar's clan. They had met a few times as children. But then the Blight happened, and it had been some years since that had happened. And when they had met again, it was instantaneous. They may have only had a few short years together, but Fay knew Nimué better than this place was giving him credit for. He couldn't take it any longer.

He stopped in his tracks.

"Enough of this." He turned to face her; she was still screaming obscene fabrications at him. She stopped when he touched her face gently. "No. You have failed. My darling Nimué had nothing but love in her heart. She loved me. She would have adored her daughter. She was kind, and gentle towards me. So you can't win this way." He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. "I love you, Nimue. I will always love you." He gently kissed her forehead. When he pulled back from her, there was a difference to her. She had tears in her eyes, and her skin had a gentle glow about it.

"You always were the smart one, Faolan."She laughed, and Fay gasped. Whatever evil he had held in his arms, was now gone. It truly was her this time. She threw her arms around his waist, just like she used to, and buried her head in his middle. He bent over, and nestled his face into her hair. Lavender. He inhaled her scent deeply. She craned her neck up, and her mouth found his.

"It really is you. Oh thank the Creators." Fay gasped. Nimué stepped away from him, and stared up at him with tearful eyes.

"You shouldn't be here, lovey. This is all a mistake. It's too soon."

"I haven't died. At least I think I haven't. I think I tore a hole in the veil. And fell through. " Nimué rolled her eyes.

"Of course you have." She shook her head, but smiled at him.

"Please tell me you're not here. That this isn't where you've gone." Fay gripped her hands tightly, relishing the warmth of them. Her soft skin. Lavender. Nimué looked confused for a moment, but her face quickly cleared up.

"You don't see it as I do. There is great beauty here. And harvests are always bountiful." She choked back a sob. "One day you will see the great cities our people once built. But for now… You have work to do, lovey." His small mate took his hand firmly and began to walk. "We need to find your friends."

"What am I going to do, ma vhenan?" Fay asked, as he held her small hand in his.

"You're going to go back, save Thedas, and live a long and happy life, lovey. Simple, right?" Nimué had a sarcastic smile on her small face. "We haven't mentioned him, Faolan. Tell me about him." Fay stopped in his tracks. He had been dreading this conversation. How could his mate possibly feel about this? About his relationship with Dorian.

"His name is Dorian Pavus. And… I love him." Fay's voice cracked, and he was afraid to look at her. "He's an Altus mage from the Tevinter Imperium. And he is kind, and sweet. He's exceptionally sarcastic, and he makes me laugh." Nimué reached up and placed her hand over his heart. She could never quite reach his face. Finally, he looked down into her eyes, and she was smiling.

"We all deserve happiness and companionship. I want you to live a life. To love and to laugh. I was gone too soon to grow old with you. Grow old with this man. Make some memories together. And one day the three of us will sit together in paradise, and you can tell me all about it."

Fay had to stop and look away for a moment to catch his breath. The weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, as a spear was driven into his heart.

"Ma Vhenan…." he whispered. Nimué shook her head, and blinked back tears.

"Love this man. Raise our daughter. And make me proud Faolan. I love you as no other will love you. I love you as the mother of our child. And as I watch over you, I will find a way to love your Dorian." She placed her hand over his heart again.

"You were my whole world before Naja was born." Fay said, in a tearfilled voice.

"I know lovey, I know. You were always kind. And I always knew your care. If it is my blessing that you seek, you will always have it. I may have been your mate. But that shouldn't hold you back. Don't let your grief for me rule your life. You know my wishes now. You have no excuse to hold back. Love him, cherish him, and hold tight to him, because the world is falling apart." Fay cradled his dead mate in his arms and wept. Her spirit's tears left wet patches on his arms.


	27. Fade

It felt like days. Years. A self-contained moment. Time moved incorrectly. It was too fast. Too slow. He couldn't decide which. Fay fell back into the comfort and ease of Nimué's company so easily. So quickly. She was his mate, and part of his soul would always belong to Nimué. He was forever changed because of her.

"Do you tell her about me?" she asked in a quiet voice. She looked terribly sad, and there was a sense of longing about her.

"Every night before she closes her eyes. I tell her you were a warrior. Of your clan, about the way you would talk to robins. She does it too." Nimué gasped out a laugh. "She has your eyes. And when I look at them, I can feel you there. With us both." Fay closed his eyes for a second to fight back his tears. "I tell her how you and I fell in love, often. She could almost tell me the tale." His mate continued to laugh.

"What do you tell her? What is this great tale?" She nudged his arm in a teasing gesture.

Before Fay could continue, he saw something that resembled pure colour moving through the air. He was struck dumb by how strange this thing looked. How out of place. Shadows moved behind this curtain of spectrum. There was an essence of life within this wall, in this place of death. A great city loomed before them, populated by millions of shadowy people. He instinctively reached for Nimué to draw her behind him, his other hand fingering the hilt of this sword.

She stood her ground, and raised her chin, staring at the shadowy figure who was coming towards them. The closer it came, the more defined he became through this shimmer of colours. He was a tall, broad elf, with short white hair. He appeared to be young, but he possessed an ageless quality. He seemed to glow from a light within, that surely would never burn out. Fay could only stare at him in bewildered silence. His face bore no Valaslin. Fay tried to speak but found that he could form no words.

"You will listen. You will obey." The elf's deep voice spoke in words very similar to the language of the Elvhen. It seemed older. More… Intact.

"Before you stands Arlathan. Fragments. Pieces. It is all wrong." The elf moved yet closer to a very stunned Fay. There was an air of urgency about him. The ethereal elf resembled his brother, Dúl. The line of his jaw. The turn of his nose…

"Fix this. Restore what has been lost. Do not allow him to destroy you. You must become great, King. Beware. Beware the Dread Wolf lurking in your shadow!" Before this elf could speak any more warnings, the curtain of pure colour snapped between them, and drew the elf back into the shadows.

"What…" Fay stammered out. He turned to look at Nimué. She had a distant look about her. Her expression was stony, and it was a long time before she would meet his eye.

"It was the voice of those who came before." Fay couldn't comprehend what he had seen and heard. "It will become clearer with time, lovey. We need to keep moving. We're getting closer." She began to walk.

"Closer to what, Nimué?"

"Fear."

"He… He fell in."

"Fell in where, woman?! What do you mean by this?!"

"A-A rift opened beneath him. And he fell into it. With Stroud and the Champion."

"Andraste's arse… Fay…"

"Baba!" she screamed.

"Don't, love." Nimué said sternly with her hand on his arm. The child screamed again in agony. Tears streamed down his face.

"Our little girl lives. Happily with your sister. That," she pointed at a small sobbing figure, "is not our daughter. It isn't Naja. It is a trick."

"Why?" He was hard set to speak, and he was barely restrained.

"This is his domain. A very powerful demon of fear. He feeds on it. So he's making you see things. Things that aren't real." Nimué held him close. Fay was on his knees, while she stroked his back.

"It isn't real. It isn't real." She repeated this for a time, then sang softly to him, calming him. The crying effigy continued to wail. But it stopped suddenly.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!" A man pelted past them at top speed. Fay slowly got to his feet, and stared after the man.

"Was that…" He was interrupted by heavy thundering footsteps. A spider the size of a small dragon was making a beeline for the pair of them. Fay's eyes widened, and he grabbed Nimué by the hand, and ran. Elvhen were generally faster than shemlen, so it wasn't long until they caught up with the running man.

"It is you." Garrett Hawke's arms and legs were pumping away as he fled with all his might from the spider coming towards them.

"Inquisitor?! Oh thank the Maker; a handsome face at last!" Fay could feel his cheeks heating. Everything Hawke said had a flirtatious connotation, even here in the Fade.

"There is somebody else in the distance. Who is that?" The further they ran, the clearer it became that it was Stroud.

"Faolán! You must stop running!" Nimué roared. "You have to face fear if you want to leave this place. Please lovey! Listen to me!"

"Who's the redhead?" Hawke asked, glancing past Fay to give Nimué the once over. How did he find the time?

"We have to fight it! It is a fear demon! We can't run from it forever. If we fight it, we can leave!"

"You are never leaving here!" The voice that possessed the entirety of this space hissed vindictively. Fay was terrified. But it was time to have courage


	28. Healing Hands of the Creators

**A/N: To those of you still reading my story, thank you so so so so much for sticking with me. I've been moving around with work, and now I'm in hospital for a couple of weeks. So yeah. I'll try to update when I can.**

There was smoke and chanting. That was the first tangible thing that he could cling to. It was familiar, and it calmed him. He had been stranded, screaming into the darkness for an eternity. He had been blinded and deafened. But the chanting. The drum. The smoke. His people were here. They were with him. Fay wasn't alone anymore.

Days passed, and he began to feel the pain. It was visceral. It was physical. He had been beginning to think that perhaps he wasn't real anymore. That his body had simply ceased to be. But the pain was reassuring. It was a relief. For a time. Every second was pain. And it continued to build in intensity. It was unbearable, but he didn't have a choice. A moment came, when the chanting and drums became more frenzied, more urgent. More panicked. And then the pain began to ease. Fay realised that he had passed some crisis.

Weeks later, he felt light falling on his eyes. He was aware of his breathing. He could feel his body. And he could feel a presence. With momentous effort, he forced his eyelids to move. He hissed with the pain the light stabbed into his eyes. He saw Nimué's face, looking at him with big eyes.

"Baba…" she wept. Fay blinked.

"Naja." He managed a weak smile, as his little girl buried her head into his hair. His hand flew up to stroke her back. His eyes roamed the room. He saw the eyes of his clan upon him. His sisters, his father, his twin. And stony-faced at the back of the room was Dorian. He looked wretched, and exhausted. Unkempt. He slipped out the door, and closed it quietly. He felt wounded, but he was very happy to be here surrounded by his people.

"Welcome back, son." his father said, with happy tears in his eyes.

A few days passed before Dorian slipped back in through the door again. He looked more groomed this time. Rested. Still hollow-cheeked, and worried. Fay was alone for once. This was probably why he had come back now. They stared across the room at each other for a few minutes.

"Hi." Fay's voice cracked as he spoke, meekly. He cleared his throat.

"Where were you?!" Dorian said, calmly. Quietly.

"W-what?"

"Where did you go? You were gone for months."

Fay's gut twisted violently. He had been in and out of consciousness for days, his family making small talk, and pampering him when he was awake.

"Months…?" he whispered.

"Two." Dorian gave him a hard stare, before he cautiously crossed the space between the door and the bed.

"Where were you?" he asked again, a little bit more gentle this time. Fay took a moment to gather himself, and to recall.

"The Fade." Dorian visibly paled. He looked like he was going to be sick.

"That's what I thought." He paced back and forth for a moment in silence before he sat in the chair beside his bed.

"It shouldn't be possible Fay. Nobody has walked in the Fade, in the _actual_ Fade since the seven…" He shook his head. The implications of what had happened to Fay was clearly disturbing to him.

"I saw the Black City." Fay managed to say, after some time.

"Maker…" Dorian was breathing faster. "It's real." Silence. "What… what was it like?"

"Like every nightmare you have ever had." Dorian took up Fay's hand, and squeezed it.

"Don't you EVER do something like that again. Don't you ever leave me like that again." Fay went to speak, but he was stopped with a stern look.

"When I heard what you had done, I couldn't believe that this is what had happened. That you were… alive. Now that I know, I can't believe you left… Without me." His voice was fraught with emotion. Fay squeezed his hand. They looked at each other for a time. "I'm so glad that you're back." Dorian leaned over him, and planted a soft, affectionate kiss on his lips. Fay relished the moment. This was a blessed moment after an eternity of torment.

"Two months…" Fay said, after a time of companionable silence. Dorian had crawled up onto the bed, and nestled into the elf's chest. Fay was slowly stroking his hair.

"You disappeared at the battle of Adamant. Into the Fade, as we now know. Everything was chaos. The Wardens assisted in the battle against the demons. That…. Dragon? Archdemon? Flew away. We got things under control, but there was no sign of you." Dorian clung tighter to Fay for a moment, as if afraid he would disappear again. "We fell into a panic. But it was the general consensus to withdraw to Skyhold once more, and strategise what we would do. Without you."

He could understand that this had been a very upsetting time for Dorian, so he held him just a little bit tighter.

"Cullen, Cassandra, and Leliana became the leaders of the Inquisition in your… absence. They bickered like fishwives, but we've held it together. Just about." Fay didn't have to imagine very much to see how badly the three of them would argue and fight. They were all friends, but they had very different opinions on things. Fay was honestly surprised the Inquisition hadn't disbanded.

"It was a Dalish tribe who found you in the Brecilian forest. They tried to help you as best they could, but they brought you here. They thought you would have a better chance." Fay was surprised by this. Only his own clan would do something like that. But they wouldn't be in the Brecilian forest at this time of year. But Clan Sabrae would be there. Nimué's clan. He closed his eyes at the memory of her in the Fade. His sweet, Autumn love.

"You've been asleep for two weeks, Fay. We thought you'd never come out of it. I- I thought you would die. I had just gotten you back, and I thought you were going to slip away from me again." Fay rested his chin on the top of Dorian's head, an expression of comfort.

"I haven't slept properly since you disappeared. When they brought you here, I thought I was dreaming. But we started to work on you. Me, your sister, your father, even Solas." For some reason Fay felt disquieted to hear that Solas had been involved. But then he remembered that this elf knew so much about the Fade. He was probably the best person to help him.

"I stayed by your side day and night, but there was no change. There was a touch of death on you." Dorian was tripping up over his words, trying to get them out. Fay could tell that he was grateful to finally be able to talk about his ordeal.

"We brought your daughter in… to say goodbye." Dorian's voice cracked, and Fay could feel dampness pooling on his chest. "She sat beside you, and looked at you with such determination… And then you woke! I've never seen such a thing. A miracle." Something in Fay knew that this act, the presence of his daughter… This was Nimué looking down on them both.

"Ma seranas, Nimué, ma vhenan." Fay whispered, wiping away his own tears.

"Do you think she helped?" Dorian asked, genuinely curious.

"I met her. In the Fade. We spoke. She guided me out." Fay found it incredibly difficult to speak of his encounter with his dead mate. It was still so raw.

"She told me to hold tight to you, and to love you with everything I have. And we all three walk together in the Field of Reeds, she will find a way to love you too."

Dorian sat up suddenly, and stared at him. Normally when Dorian would cry, they would be pretty tears. Crying in Tevinter wasn't frowned upon, and was a way to express joy at beautiful things. But these weren't feigned, pretty tears. His face was wrung up, his chin quivering.

"You saw her?" Fay nodded, smiled, then sobbed heavily. Dorian gathered him up in his arms, and cried with him for a moment.

"She gave us her blessing." Fay stammered out. He had never been afraid to talk to Dorian about her. About the mother of his child. The first great love of his life. For Dorian to find out that Nimué approved of them both, was a momentous declaration. He knew that Fay wouldn't lie to him about this. It meant that there was nothing holding them back. They had no excuses now to not throw themselves wholeheartedly into this thing.

Fay took Dorian's face into his large hand, gently touching his cheek. He kissed him, then stared into his eyes for a moment.

"I love you, Dorian Pavus. Beyond all measure." Dorian's breath caught. "Will you consent to be my mate?" Dorian was stunned into silence. He knew what this meant among the Dalish. It was the equivalent of a marriage proposal. His hands shook with the shock of it. All his life, he had expected he would one day have to marry. But it would never have been for love. He never thought he would be in love.

"Andraste's arse…" Dorian swore, and then they both laughed. "Faolan Lavellan…. King of the Elvhen… Are you asking me to marry you?" He spoke with a teasing tone in his voice. There was mounting excitement.

"I'm asking you to be my mate. Which is sort of the same thing. Yes." Fay was toying with Dorian's hand, and he was feeling nervous. What if he was rejected? Where would they go from there?

"I will." Dorian said, in a sudden moment of solemnity. "I want to be your mate." They stared at each other for a moment, and then they began to laugh. They couldn't stop themselves. They were caught up in hysterics.

"Does that mean I'm a King now?" Dorian asked, returning to his teasing tone.

"If anything, you're my Queen." Fay was teasing back, but Dorian had a pleased look on his face. Nothing could spoil this moment.

"Queen Dorian. I like it. King Fay, and Queen Dorian. Yes that does sound right, doesn't it?" They couldn't stop laughing. Their joy was self-sustaining.

"Is there a ceremony, or…?"

"Not really… But we can do something if you'd like."

"I would like."

"Then you'll have it. Anything for my mate." Dorian felt a sense of belonging now. He had a person, who was just for him. And they had committed to each other. They belonged to each other.


	29. He Belonged There

**A/N: Who are you Judy?**

They fell back atop the pillows together, gasping for breath. Fay started to gasp out a laugh, and Dorian couldn't help but to join in. Dorian felt very overheated, and exceptionally sweaty. He lay still for a moment, his breath slowly returning to normal. He stood up slowly, thinking to open to doors to the balcony. The cool air would help to soothe him. He froze mid stride.

"They were open this whole time?!" A note of panic crept into Dorian's tone. He looked back at Fay, reclining upon the bed, his body glistening with sweat. Every curve, every muscle defined. Damn him for being so attractive. Seeing Fay with no clothes on always gave him pause. It always made him feel like he was seeing something sacred, something that was meant for worthier eyes than his. He was like a bronze god, and Dorian had just worshipped him.

Fay had a lazy smile on his lips.

"Yes."

"So…"

"Everyone heard, yes."

"Maker…" Dorian covered his eyes, and felt a flush cross his cheeks. "So now they all know?"

"That you're a loud lover?" Fay asked, with a cheeky look in his eyes. Dorian frowned at him in mock admonishment.

"No. That… You and I…" He started to feel very uncomfortable.

"Come back here, ma vhenan. I want to hold you." Fay commanded. Dorian raised an eyebrow. He could only admire his confidence. The mage slinked over to the bed, petulant look on his face. Inside, he was a knot of anxiety. Mother Giselle, in particular, had been worried for the Inquisitor's reputation as rumours of he and Dorian's involvement began to circulate. Nobody cared here that Fay loved a man. It was the fact that that man was a mage from the Tevinter Imperium. He was a social pariah at home, and out of it. He didn't belong anywhere.

"Dorian." He still got chills at the sound of his voice saying his name. "I love you. You do not shame me. I am proud to be yours. Let them know. I will continue to hold my head up high, as you should do." Fay's voice was deep, and resounding. Warm, and affectionate. He was so sure of himself. So absolute in his statements. There was very little room for Dorian to doubt. If there was one thing that Dorian was a master at, it was doubting himself. Fay made it more difficult for him to do that.

"Yes, but you weren't the one moaning loudly." Dorian said, feeling mortified, as he nestled onto Fay's chest. "The entirety of Skyhold must have heard me."

"Then that is something they'll know about me. That I can make you happy." There was a hint of smugness in his tone. Dorian swatted him on the arm.

"We don't really know that much about you, do we, Inquisitor?" Dorian was desperately trying to change the subject.

"What do you want to know?" Fay's voice was very cocky. He had been getting cockier and cockier since Dorian had agreed to be his mate. He liked it. It was something private. A rapport just for the two of them. Every day when he woke up and realised that Fay was beside him, he thought his heart would surely burst. Dorian thought for a while, then landed on an easy question.

"How old are you?" At times he was convinced that Fay was younger than him. Perhaps because Dorian was getting to that age where he felt Ancient. Thirty-two. He thought this would be an easy question to get them started off on. But Fay's face tightened, and he looked suddenly apprehensive. He took a breath, started to speak, stopped, then started again.

"I'm sixty-four."

"WHAT?!" A pause. "Do elves measure years differently to shemlen?" Dorian calmed, as he thought this was the most logical answer.

Fay shook his head slowly, and then they were both sitting up. Dorian had to get to the bottom of this.

"You're twice as old as I am? That can't be right. No…"Fay grimaced, then thought for a moment.

"Elvhen have longer lifespans than shemlen. In our legends, it is said that there was once a time when we did not die." There were times when Dorian forgot that he and Fay were not the same species. This was one of those stark reminders, that they were quite different.

"How old could you live to be?" He was now curious on an academic level now. He had never known that elves had a longer life than humans.

"The oldest woman of our bloodline is approximately eight hundred years. Give or take a decade."

Dorian's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Wait… your bloodline?" Fay looked to be mildly uncomfortable talking about this, but he was also somewhat encouraged to talk about this.

"Surely you've noticed by now that my family, that I look somewhat different to other Elvhen."

"You're… taller?"

"Taller, broader, stronger. We're somewhat different. It comes down through my mother's line. She always said it was the old blood. So in relative terms, I'm still a child." He chuckled at this.

"You're sixty-four. You're a geriatric." They both laughed together about it. The tension left Fay's face. And Dorian was trying his best to get a grasp of this strange new information. "I'll have to start calling you Old Man Faolán."

"Don't you dare!" Fay shouted. He tackled the mage on the bed, and they struggled back and forth together for a time, laughing all the way.

It came to be that Fay managed to gain the upper hand, because of course he did. He was so much stronger than Dorian. He straddled him, and held his arms down over his head. They were both panting hard, and laughing still. Dorian felt a flutter in his stomach. The feeling of Fay's bare skin against his drove him absolutely wild. Fay could feel this. He was staring into Dorian's eyes, before dropping his glance for a moment. He looked back up with a smirk.

"Shut up." Dorian panted. Fay lowered himself slowly on his arms to kiss him. If Dorian was out of breath before, he was gasping now.

"You're an evil, evil man, and I love you." Dorian whispered.

"I have nowhere else to be today. I just want to spend time with you. How we spend it, is up to you." Fay began to nuzzle his neck, running his tongue lightly along his jaw.

"Yeah, let's do that. Please." Fay smiled so that his canines were visible. It gave him a wild look.

"So, Old Man Faolán, what do we tell your daughter?" Dorian asked, later that day, as they ate a plate of bread and cheese. Fay chewed awhile in thought. There was a crease between Fay's eyes. Dorian could tell that he was in pain. His hand had been flaring more often lately.

"What do you mean, vhenan?" He was very clearly distracted. Dorian watched him for a moment, concerned, trying to think of a way to ease his pain.

"What do we tell your daughter, about us?" This was something he had been thinking of the last few days. There was no way that Dorian could ever replace Nimué, and he would never want to. But would Naja resent him for spending time with her father? Fay looked up, and saw the concerned look on Dorian's face.

"Ah. I see." He chewed a piece of bread slowly, and thoughtfully. Savouring it.

"Naja adores you, Dorian. She thinks your moustache is the most fascinating thing she has ever seen."

"Well, it is fabulous." Dorian conceded, quietly. Fay took a moment to smirk at him.

"Naja has only love in her heart. I will tell her that you and I love each other very much. And that you are my mate. I will tell them all." Fay became serious for a moment as he considered for a moment.

"I will paint your face, if you would permit me. When next we are among my people." Dorian had been trying to learn more about Dalish customs, but it was a difficult task. Most of their texts had been destroyed, and third party sources were entirely unreliable. Fay had scribbled some corrections on a few books, which Dorian found to be hilarious.

"Paint my face? Well first I'd have to know what that means?"

"Well, it normally applies to a male and female mates, but it is an important ritual. The female paints her mate's face to show his honour, and how she values him. He then paints her face to honour her." Fay frowned for a moment. It is hard to explain what things with deep unspoken meaning represent to outsiders." They both sat in contemplative silence for a time.

"So would I be expected to paint your face?" Dorian asked. "If so… I don't know how to." He paused. "I'd be willing to learn. But the real question is, which of us is the wife in this relationship?" They both laughed together, releasing the tension that had built up.

"I think we both are? Right?" Fay said jokingly. "So how are you at drawing?"

"Terrible. But I can magic real good." Fay was taken aback for a moment, before laughing again.

"I can teach you."

"Well it'll probably be a while before we come across any tribes, right?" Fay scratched the back of his neck.

"Well, you see… I'm about to do something insane. It might make history. Or it might make war."

"Fay… What in the Maker's name are you planning?"


	30. Monument

**A/N: Judy, you're the best. Thanks for always reviewing.**

This was an entirely unprecedented event. Thousands gathered on the streets to watch. It was like a parade, but instead of cheering, there was fearful silence. The entire City of Val Royeaux had ground to a halt, and was silent. One hundred Elvhen in green armour preceded him. Emerald Knights walked in Val Royeaux for the first time in history. And behind this honour guard, rode their king. The King of the Dales, astride a massive hart, the horns of a stag adorning his head like a crown. His face and arms were painted red, and his skin glittered with golden rings and chains. He was a massive figure, astride his massive mount. There was something primal about the figure of Faolán Lavellan. He was bare-chested. The rain glistened on his skin. His back was straight, and he swayed easily with his animal. His gaze was stern, and his chin was raised. He looked every bit the Forest King that he was. He was a prime specimen.

The King was followed by the Tevinter Mage, Dorian Pavus. He was dressed in Tevinter finery, with far too much silver to be decent, surely. Josephine Montilyet rode with him. She was rumoured to be here as a representative of the Inquisition during these talks. These momentous talks. There were all sorts of rumours flying around. Rumours that the elf was going to demand the throne to the Orlesian Empire. Rumours that he was here to start a war. Rumours that he was here to claim every elf in Orlais as his own. There were so many rumours that nobody suspected the truth.

The Royal procession wound through the city, making their way to the great palace of the Emperor. The fear was palpable throughout the gathered crowds. Save for the elves brave enough to venture beyond their masters' homes without permission. They had faces of hope, and admiration. There had been talk of some Dalish king among the servants, but they would quieten quickly at sight of their masters. This must be he then. What did he want with their peaceful and beautiful Orlais? What right had he to barge in here as though he were wanted. Very few connected the fact that he was the Inquisitor to the fact that he was the King of the Dales. All elves were the same. It didn't matter who he was. They did not want him. But none had the bravery to voice this. The Emerald warriors were fabled in song and story, as brutish, barbarian warriors. True savages. And this primitive king was surrounded by one hundred of them. They weren't even supposed to exist anymore. They had been wiped out in the last Exalted March. At least, they were supposed to have been.

The procession passed onto the grounds of the palace, and before them stood the Emperor and his retinue. Emperor Gaspard wore a mask over his face as was custom. He was dressed in fine regalia, as was only polite. This Elf King came in animal skins, bare-chested, with smears of red paint on his face and arms. A black handprint was placed over his heart. This was no way to come into this beautiful city. This was no way to appear before the Emperor. The escort of Emerald Warriors drew to either side, creating an avenue to their King. He stared down at the Emperor for a moment, before he gracefully dismounted. He touched his head to that over-sized deer of his, and thanked it, before he turned back to the Emperor. He walked slowly to the Emperor. As he passed his guards, they knelt, gazing up at him. They looked at him the way every elf looked at him. Like they could see something the rest of them couldn't. When he reached the Emperor, he towered above him. They stared at one another for a time, before each inclined their head, and began to walk towards the Palace. The Tevinter man, and the woman from the Inquisition followed them inside at a distance. Only then did murmurs break out among the vast crowds of people.

Gaspard stared, uncomfortably at the Inquisitor. He was not used to seeing anyone dressed this way. He had never met a Dalish elf in his life before he had met the Inquisitor. Seeing the intimidating, and somewhat frightening way he was dressed came as a shock to him. He did not yet fully understand why he was meeting with the Inquisitor. Or why he was dressed in this way. Perhaps it was some Dalish whimsy. It didn't seem the least bit whimsical to him, however.

"Forgive me, Inquisitor, but I am not entirely sure why we are meeting today." There was a silence for a few moments. The Inquisitor stared him in the eyes, as though weighing up his very soul. Then he spoke in that disarmingly deep voice of his.

"I do not come to you this day as the Inquisitor. I represent my people, the Elvhen. I am their chosen King." The elf gave him an even stare. Fay could tell that this news discomfited the Emperor.

"Well how am I to address you, if it is not to be Inquisitor?" Gaspard had something of a joking tone in his voice, but the frustration and strain was not difficult to hear.

"Address me as you would any other visiting King." Fay replied, in that calm and measured tone of his. The tightening of Gaspard's fist told Fay everything he needed to know about Gaspard. The Emperor found it very challenging to take Fay seriously. He had never had to address an elf who had true autonomy. When he was the Inquisitor, he was under the thumb of Seeker Pentaghast, and Leliana, in the opinion of Gaspard. But here he was. The King of a nation of people he viewed as little better than vermin. This may be an interesting conversation. He hoped that Gaspard would surprise him. Thus far, he had done so already. Maybe he was trying to overcome his inbuilt prejudices.

"Of course, your majesty. It would be an honour to hear what you have come to say." Some of the tension in the room dissipated.

"I thank you, Imperator."

Fay mentally prepared himself for what he was about to say. Once he said it, there was no coming back. He had rehearsed this speech a hundred times with Dorian. But here was the moment of truth. He began to speak in perfect Orlesian.

"In the year 2:20 Glory, the Dales, the capital of which is Halamshiral, were wrested from the control of the Elvhen, known to you as the Dalish. This was the climax of an Exalted March against the Dalish people, the politics and history of which I have not come here today to discuss." He paused. "Since the lands of the Dales were wrested from us, my people have been nomadic in nature, travelling from place to place for short periods during each year. The Dalish people have no homes. Our homes are the families we each have. Our homes are our legends and stories. Our homes are our songs. But you cannot sow crops in songs. You cannot raise livestock in legends. You cannot build a city upon the backs of your family." He paused to ensure that he had Gaspard's attention. The Emperor was staring fixedly at him.

"I have come here today to reclaim the Dales for my people. So that we may be a nation once more. One Nation. One people."

"You have come here asking for land?" There was a note of disbelief in the voice of the Emperor. Fay continued to lounge in the chair that had been provided for him, but Dorian could see the tension in every muscle of his body.

"You misunderstand me." Fay shook his head lightly. "The land of the Dales rightfully belongs to the Dalish people. I want that land once more, for all Elvhen." The servant elves who stood around the room, ready to serve their Emperor at a moment's notice, snapped their heads up. Fay met their eyes, and held each of their gazes for a few seconds. "Our cultures may have diverged, brothers and sisters, but we are all Elvhen. We should have a nation of our own." Dorian watched the servants glance at each other. Word of this would not take long to spread. This was a smart move on Fay's part. If Gaspard refused, there could be a rebellion among the serving class. "I want peace with Orlais. But I have people under my charge, just as you do, Imperator."

There was silence. It stretched for a long time, as the monarchs stared across at each other. Both were unwavering. Dorian couldn't keep the small smirk from his lips. It seemed as though Gaspard had met his match.

"Your majesty will understand that he has taken me somewhat by surprise." Gaspard's tone was slow and measured. Fay dipped his head, conceding the point. "Will your majesty consent to giving me three days to consider and appropriate answer. I invite you to be our guest during this time of deliberation. We shall throw a ball in your honour, of course." Dorian was pleased that Gaspard was trying his best to treat Fay like any other visiting royal. Fay smiled then, and dipped his head again.

"It is reasonable to want time before making a decision that could change the course of history. And I would be honoured to be the recipient of a famous Orlesian Ball."

"It is settled then!" The Emperor stood. Fay towered above him again. The only person Dorian had met who was taller than Fay, was the Iron Bull. Fay's height clearly made the Emperor uncomfortable, but he dealt with his discomfort as best he could. "Would your majesty excuse me as I begin deliberations with my counsel. I can appoint a tour guide so that you may see our beautiful city in all its splendour." Gaspard had always been surly, but he was making a tremendous effort here.

"That would be perfect. I would love to see your Alienage." The tension was back in the air. But they sidestepped it gently.

"Of course." The Emperor regarded one of the elves standing around the wall.

"Dauphine is one of our most historically educated staff. She would make an excellent tour guide." The elf girl curtseyed deeply.

"Andaran atish'an, Dauphine." Fay bowed forward at the waist slightly. The elf girl lowered into a curtsey again, her cheeks reddening.

"Your generosity and hospitality are unrivaled, Imperator. You have my thanks." The Emperor withdrew, and left the room on tenterhooks.

"You honour us, my king, to visit your people here." a member of the alienage said. Fay could see that there were many who were displeased with his presence, and many more who were offended by this elf's statement. Fay smiled benevolently.

"Please, brothers and sisters, I am not your King. The people of the clans chose me to represent them. I understand that the Elvhen of the city Alienages are a unique and sovereign culture. You are your own people. I would never presume to rule you. To you, I am simply Fay." There was a wave of murmuring through the gathered crowd.

"Why have you come, Fay?" another elf asked. She seemed tough.

"For too long have the elves of both the Dalish clans and the Alienages been at odds. For what? We are one people. I, for one, am eager to learn about your customs, your legends, your songs. About your great tree. We are brothers and sisters. I want to find a land for us to be a nation. For us to be one people. I want you to have a choice. I want my people to have a choice."

Fay turned and looked up at the Breach in the sky. His hand flared, and he winced very slightly.

"This world is falling apart at the seams. We need to band together. We need to organise, and we need to fight. All I can do is ask you to join me. To consider joining the Inquisition, and when this chapter of history is closed, to settle on the Dales when they belong to the Elvhen once more." Fay spoke with such feeling that his eyes watered with unshed tears.

"The Maker is with every one of you this day, brothers and sisters. Whether you choose to join us, or stay here in the Alienage, you will always be friends of the Dalish. You will have our help if ever you should need it." Fay spoke with such genuine feeling, that nobody opposed him. Every person standing in the Alienage of Val Royeaux took his words to heart. Word would spread throughout every alienage like wildfire.

Fay spent time speaking to many different individuals in Orlesian, which the elves appreciated. He asked them about their culture, their stories, and the quality of their lives. He listened to everything they said, and took it all in. When Fay left the alienage, he left with their respect.

"That went very well, Amatus. But what will you do if Gaspard refuses?" Dorian whispered, as he walked by his love's side.

"He won't refuse me." Fay said with confidence. "That land is ours. It is written. He doesn't benefit from keeping the Dales. He used it to wage his civil war. Only one of the Lions is left. The land is fallow, and wasted. It is useless to him. But to the People. To the Elvhen… We can turn the Dales into a golden paradise. We will have time on our side. Should the world survive."

Dorian gently brushed his fingers against Fay's. Fay glanced down at him for a moment. A soft smile touched his lips.

"I am grateful that I have you by my side, ma vhenan. Every good King needs wise counsel. And strong support." Fay stopped walking, and his entourage stopped walking with him. They surrounded them, protectively. Fay placed a hand on the side of Dorian's face, and looked down at him tenderly. He reached down slowly and kissed him tenderly. Dorian was very surprised. He had never been kissed in public before in his life. He had a brief moment of panic before he realised his whole life had changed with Fay. This wasn't something to be scared of. This wasn't a hanging offence. His love was legal. And it was beautiful.

"Dorian Pavus, would you accompany me to a Ball?" Fay asked gently, when they had parted. He still kept his hand on the mage's face.

"I would be honoured to, Amatus."


	31. Albatross

**N/A: So... I wrote the last couple of chapters while I was in the Hospice. Naturally I was distracted, but it was when I had time on my hands. I mean I was fed four boojie meals a day (hot damn). So now that I'm home again managing on my own, I'm going to be sporadic again. And probably scatterbrained. If I miss out some details (like how Hawke definitely made it out of the Fade) it's because I have a disability that makes me a lil bit confused and forgetful. So. To all of you who have been reading along, and following, and leaving reviews (oh how I love you), Thank you so so much. My stories on this site and Archive are a beautiful little light in my life that bring me great joy. I get such a kick out of how people like you will read this. It's just the magic of the internet, you know? Love you!**

* * *

It felt strange to Dorian to be once more dressed in the finery of his country. Black and gold had always suited him. It brought out his eyes. According to himself. Part of him felt as though he was back in his stately home in Qarinus. He walked with his head held high, and a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time. Clothes had a strange way of doing that. He was here, with the love of his life. A King. A gorgeous, kind-hearted elf, who adored him and worshipped him. As he passed the servants in the hall, however, he made time to look at them. To smile. To greet them. This was one thing that had changed. All of the servants were elvhen. In Tevinter, he had never noticed the help. Meeting Fay had made him realise that these were people. They had a right to be noticed. A right to be thanked for what they did. And he felt shame for how he had behaved in the past. But he was trying to grow. To become better. Fay had a way of bringing out the best in all people he came across.

Dorian rapped his knuckles on an elaborately carved mahogany door.

"Enter." came the booming voice of his king. His heart still sometimes skipped a beat when he heard Fay's voice. He opened the door, to find Fay seated before a mirror, with two elves attending him. He didn't look pleased about it, but he sat still. It was customary for elves to braid each others' hair, and to paint their faces. The servants from the palace were watched closely by Dalish elves. Dúl was one of them. He had become a constant in the royal entourage. He was watching the serving elves braid Fay's hair into an elaborate crown.

"I could've done that." Dúl said, petulantly.

"Shut up brother. You could never manage something as beautiful as this." The elf woman working on his hair blushed furiously, but her hands never faltered.

"You look beautiful, ma vhenan. Very dashing." Fay was eyeing Dorian in the mirror. He started and left the doorway. They had dressed him in a very tight fitting green doublet, embroidered with gold thread.

"Did they have that tailored for you?" Dorian asked, with a sarcastic tone. Dúl rolled his eyes.

"Don't start. This King business is beginning to get to his head."

"You seem rather fond of it when people mistake you for me, brother." Dorian laughed at the banter between the twins. They descended into a squabble in their native language, of which Dorian could only grasp a few words. He was trying his best to learn more about Fay's language and culture.

When the girl was finished braiding Fay's hair, she placed small golden antlers towards the front of his head. It was a crown fit for the King of the Forest. He stood, and towered above them all. Dorian was startled to see he was wearing makeup. His golden eyes were positively glowing from behind the black kohl. Golden powder was dabbed onto his cheekbones to make his facial contours sharper. He looked like a young god. Dorian bit his lip and took a step towards his beloved. The young elf man who was responsible for dressing Fay, stood upon the low stool on which the King had just been sitting. He fixed a cloak of spun gold to Fay's shoulders. He was complete. Dorian took a moment to admire Fay. To take him in. Dorian felt as though he was standing before a piece of living history. Not for the first time, he marvelled at his love. He was larger than life. It was at times difficult to believe he was real.

Dúl interjected once more.

"You two are disgusting. You're so in love with each other. It's gagging." Dúl fake-retched, before smiling. He nudged Dorian on the shoulder. Dúl had always shown Dorian a genuine affection that was difficult for him to process. But Dúl felt like what he imagined family was supposed to feel like. He could trust this man, with his life. He could trust him with his darkest secrets. That was a deep level of trust. He smiled up at the elf.

"You're just jealous that your brother got to me first." Dorian put on his best flirtatious voice. Dúl immediately played along, and put his wrist to his forehead.

"I am, oh darling Dorian! Throw over your lover and choose me instead! We can run away together and live in a little village in Fereldan, farming goats!" Everybody laughed at this. Dorian reached up and kissed the elf on the cheek.

"A tempting offer, but I'm afraid I'm stuck with the King."

Fay took a single stride to close the space between he and Dorian. He placed his hands on his shoulders, affectionately. Dorian closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of Fay's hands.

"Dorian Pavus has chosen me, and I am blessed for this. Brother, he is my mate." Dúl took a step back, as though he had been slapped, but it didn't take long for a smile to spread on his gorgeous face. "Do not tell father. Or any of the others. I want to be the one to tell them this happy news." For once, Dúl was speechless, and compliant. He put his hands on either side of Dorian's face, and bent to touch his forehead to his.

"You are my family now, little mage. I will protect you like I would protect my brother," He paused for a moment. "Well, not my crappy brother. My good brother. Fay." He stepped back, and beamed a smile.

"Brother, you do realise that Seeker Cassandra Penteghast is in attendance of tonight's ball? Unattended. Perhaps you should keep her company?" There was a teasing tone in Fay's voice, but Dúl perked up even more.

"I shall go at once, and bask in the glory of her scowls!" How well the elf knew her. They had spent time together at Skyhold, training at sword and bow. But there were nights when Dorian was finding it difficult to sleep, that while on his walks, he would hear their voices from the kitchens. Dorian didn't really know what the two of them could possibly talk about, but he respected Dúl for being brave enough.

Fay took a moment to sweep his eyes around the room, resting on both of the servants for a moment, and his Dalish kinsmen for a moment. He bowed slightly from the waist.

"I thank you for the kind service you have done me." He smiled at the pair of palace servants warmly.

"I will not detain you any longer, but know that you have sincerest gratitude." They curtsied and bowed their way out of the room, staring at him with wide-eyed wonder. He then turned to his kinsmen, and spoke in his own language.

"Brothers." They nodded to him, and stepped outside the door. It was only then that Fay deflated. He sank slowly onto the low stool he had been sitting on a moment ago.

"Creators, Dorian, I'm so scared." He held his head in his hands, as though completely overwhelmed. Words came unbidden to Dorian's lips.

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown." Dorian hunkered down beside his love, He took up his hand.

"I may have doomed my people by doing this, Dorian. He may very likely refuse my appeal to his sense of decency. He may war against us. What have I done? I am a damned fool!" He lifted his head, and his eyes blazed with a mad fear.

"It won't be war, amatus. And there is hope that he may yet respond favourably. We can't know until we attend this ghastly ball, and he announces his decision. And surely, the fact that he is announcing it to you at a public affair should be cause for hope." Dorian stood at the end of his speech, and held his hand out to Fay. "Walk with me hand in hand to this ball, Faolán." Fay looked up at this. There was something about Dorian that reminded him of his beloved Nimué in that moment. That calm strength of character. Fay took Dorian's hand and stood.

"I'm glad to have you by my side." he said quietly, as they walked together towards the door.

"I'll be here for eternity and a day."

It seemed as though all the wealth of the Empire of Orlais was on display tonight in the royal palace at Val Royeaux. The decadence was disturbing. It outstripped the display that had been present at the Winter Palace all those months ago. This was their capital, and Dorian supposed that the Emperor must put on an intimidating display to put his guests in their place. This was the lifestyle that the aristocracy, such as both he and Gaspard were, were used to. It didn't phase Dorian for a second, but he imagined what this must look like to Fay. How this might make him feel. Much of this wealth was sustained on the backs of poor Elvhen. Not slaves, but not far from it. Elvhen servants walked unseen through the ballroom, presenting flutes of overpriced wine to snobbish gentry. They were not seen. They were not thanked. Fay was right. If Gaspard refused, it would come to war. No people could endure such treatment when there was the possibility of an alternative. Or was he simply being naive?

Fay walked at a stately pace, with Dorian on his arm. They entered the ballroom, and were announced.

"Faolán Lavellan, King of the Dalish Clans, King of the Forest, Lord of the Sky, Protector of the People, First of his name." Every eye in the ballroom turned to look at the pair of them. The Elvhen servants stopped in their tracks, and were seen. Fay stood resolute, with his back straight, and his chin raised. His golden eyes flashed around the room, and rested for a moment on the servants. They bowed to him. Whispers broke out among the Orlesians, and a small smile softened Fay's handsome face.

"Dorian Pavus, Altus of the Tevinter Imperium." His introduction was much less impressive, he thought. The whispers among the Orlesians grew in volume.

"Allow me to go forth alone, vhenan." Fay murmured. Dorian understood, and nodded imperceptibly. He removed his hand from Fay's crooked arm. Fay stood yet taller, before he took his first step. There was a sudden silence. The ballroom floor had a corridor between guests, that led to the opposite side of the room, to where Emperor Gaspard sat upon a golden throne. The King walked slowly, with great pride, as though he were on parade. Every living soul in the ballroom watched this living god process towards the Emperor. Dorian could feel his heart in his throat. This was a moment that would be written about in the history books. A Dalish elf and the Emperor of Orlais meeting as equals. The fate of the Elvhen would be decided in this moment. Dorian thought he was going to be sick. Or urinate. One or the other, he wasn't sure. He was overcome with the significance of this moment with each step Fay took.

Guests were expected to stop at the bottom of the steps that led up to the throne's dias, but Fay set his foot resolutely on the first step. The room held their breath. Dorian couldn't help the smile on his lips, the pride that he felt. Fay would not stand beneath this man, like a servant. He would stand by his side as an equal. Gaspard appeared startled, but recovered himself with unexpected grace. Gaspard had surprised Dorian greatly on this diplomatic mission. There was a depth to the Emperor, despite how hard he tried to hide it with his curt manner. Fay walked slowly, and calmly up the steps of the dias, and Gaspard slowly rose from his throne. When Fay drew level with him, the silence was so complete, that you could have heard a strand of grass drop.

The two men eyeballed each other for a moment, Gaspard having to crane his neck slightly. But after a moment, the Emperor bowed his head. And Fay returned the gesture. A wave of whispering erupted once more, but was cut short when Gaspard proffered his hand to Fay, as though they were two soldiers meeting on the field of battle. Fay glanced down at the proffered hand in shock, and then took it, shaking it heartily, as smile as radiant as the sun bursting across his face. Even the perpetually grumpy Gaspard had a small smile to give. Some of the tension that had filled the room, deflated.

Dorian watched Fay and and Gaspard like a hawk, never taking his eyes from them. The pair talked together amiably for a while, but there was still a sense of awkwardness between them. Quiet chatter resumed around the ballroom, but it lacked energy. Dorian watched every slight movement of Fay's face, his every expression. So far, he had remained to be politely neutral. There was still a trace of anxiety on his face, that only someone who really knew him would detect. When would this painful period of waiting end? Dorian leaned on the balustrade, his finger idly twirling his moustache. He wouldn't move, wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink, wouldn't speak to anyone around him. He simply watched. And waited.

An age seemed to pass. Gaspard raised a hand, and a hush fell upon the crowd.

"It is the responsibility of monarchs to pave the way forward for their people. My predecessors have in the past held up our strong traditions and history as a shining example to be preserved. But this does not allow for progress." Dorian's heart skipped a beat.

"The Empire of Orlais must move forward into this world, not as a nation to be feared, but as an example that we can always make amends. We can always make allies. Friends." Dorian held his breath. He was witnessing the most monumental piece of history in the Orlesian Empire. Well. That was his opinion. Tears brimmed in his eyes. Could this really be true?

"King Faolan Lavellan. You are the chosen representative of your people, and you have come to me, in dignity, and in righteousness, to show me the error of this Empire's treatment towards the Dalish people. The Dalish people are the shame of this great Empire." Fay stood facing Emperor Gaspard on equal footing. He had a stern face, and a steady gaze. Dorian could see the flex of his jaw.

"Maker, please…" Dorian whispered.

"Always we have viewed ourselves as a great and glorious people, merciful and pious. We have led Exalted Marches in the name of the Maker, in the name of Andraste, and have grown powerful and benevolent. But my people, I say unto you. We have driven these noble people from their land, persecuted them, murdered them, enslaved them. We have committed a grave and terrible genocide." Gaspard took a breath. This was difficult for him, anyone could see this. The words he was saying were one he had clearly ruminated on. His words were his own.

"Currently, I your Imperator, lay claim to land that is not mine." Tears poured down Dorian's face. He was sobbing with hope.

"King Faolan. Fay. I relinquish my hold on your land. I beg of you to forgive me that it has taken me so long. That it has taken the Empire so long to realise our error. I pray that we may be allies and friends. You will always have my assistance, your majesty." And at this, Gaspard did something unheard of. He bowed to a Dalish man. The Emperor of the ever powerful Orlais. The court gasped, and began to talk loudly. Dúl, who was suddenly beside Dorian, was visibly heaving with strength of his sobs. Dorian clutched at his hand. Dúl squeezed back.

Fay stood as a statue beside the Emperor for a moment. He was fighting his tears. He finally gave up the fight. He went to Gaspard, and pulled him up from the bow, and embraced him. Many tears were shed throughout the room. Fay stepped away and lifted his head. He began to howl and ululate. This was victory. All the elvhen within the room, no matter where they were standing, no matter their station, raised their heads, and joined the King. This was a truly blessed day.


End file.
